


Where's My Goddamn Dinosaur What-Ifs

by njw



Series: Where's My Goddamn Dinosaur [4]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Accidental Telepathy, Aged Down Bruce Wayne, Batfamily Feels, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Inappropriate Humor, M/M, Multiverse, One Shot Collection, Time Travel, just different relationships in different universes, oh god the relationship tags are starting to look like a Tim-centric gangbang, this is not a Tim-centric gangbang, what-if scenarios
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2019-11-06 15:53:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17942684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/njw/pseuds/njw
Summary: “Timothy and his partner will be taking care of you from now on.” Janet Drake addresses the now-sleeping baby in Talia’s arms as though perfectly convinced she will somehow both absorb and understand what the woman is saying.Watching this, I’m suddenly understanding a lot more about my childhood.“Thefuckis goin’ on here? Jesus fuckin’Christ,don’t tell me we got a kid now, Prettyboy. I just stopped on the way home to pick up the damngroceries.I wasnotgone long enough for you to somehow conceive and gestate our child.”*Collection of oneshot what-if scenarios for the Where's My Goddamn Dinosaur series.





	1. Before Bruce Became Batman (aka Going to the Special Hell)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The little boy is grinning as his parents swing back toward him, his mother starting to reach out in preparation to catch him. His blue eyes widen when he notices the missing bolts and begins to realize what the damaged mechanism means. His small face is just beginning to show the faintest traces of fear and panic, and Mary Grayson’s smile slides right off her face as John Grayson’s eyes go tight with grim horror. _God, he looks just like Dick, how did I not remember how much Dick looks like his dad?_
> 
> And then the Graysons are _falling_ , Dick’s mother crying his name in despair as the little boy’s small fist closes on air, devastation in his blue eyes already shining with tears. The crowd is reacting with horror, startled shouts and screams filling the air, and _Red Robin is moving._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What if… Other Tim landed much farther in the past? He made it work, developed a network and a vigilante identity, and stayed far away from Gotham. He didn’t want to have Batman come after him for operating in his town, and he didn’t think there was anything for him there.
> 
> But he returned to Gotham, on the night the Flying Graysons fell…

The performance is _spectacular,_ incredible feats of deceptively effortless strength and flexibility coupled with a grace and beauty of motion almost like an aerial dance. Gasps and awed exclamations arise from the crowd following each truly amazing feat of physical prowess as spotlights track the performers through their incredible, death-defying routine.

Red Robin’s jaw falls open slightly as he watches the brightly attired woman curl and spin through four flips in the air, then stretch and arch as she flies to grip her husband’s wrists, smiling so bright it hurts. _Dick’s smile._

The little boy is grinning as his parents swing back toward him, his mother starting to reach out in preparation to catch him. His blue eyes widen when he notices the missing bolts and begins to realize what the damaged mechanism means. His small face is just beginning to show the faintest traces of fear and panic, and Mary Grayson’s smile slides right off her face as John Grayson’s eyes go tight with grim horror. _God, he looks just like Dick, how did I not remember how much Dick looks like his dad?_

And then the Graysons are _falling_ , Dick’s mother crying his name in despair as the little boy’s small fist closes on air, devastation in his blue eyes already shining with tears. The crowd is reacting with horror, startled shouts and screams filling the air, and _Red Robin is moving._

Red fires his grapple as he leaps from his hidden perch in the dark shadows behind the spotlights, slamming into John Grayson’s side and trusting the acrobat to grab and _hold on_ even as he grasps Mary’s slender waist and lifts, pulling her close.

They land safely a heartbeat later on another aerial platform, and Red makes sure both acrobats are secure before releasing his grip. His heart is thundering in his ears as Dick swings and clambers desperately down from his perch and up to theirs, leaping into his mother’s arms and clinging like a limpet while his father wraps his family in his strong embrace, face buried in his wife’s hair and muscular arms _shaking_ in reaction to what almost happened.

Red should be going. Red should already be _gone._ He looks at the little boy _Dick brother my big brother_ who will now never be his brother, not in this universe, and blinks, wondering why everything’s so blurry all of a sudden. The roar of the crowd sounds muted for some reason and his throat feels unaccountably tight.

“Are you all right?” Mary Grayson’s lovely face is concerned, her auburn hair shining so bright under the lights it’s mesmerizing.

_Dick, your infatuation with redheads makes a disturbing amount of sense right now._

“I’m fine,” he manages. Yeah, perfectly fine, just marooned completely alone, unimaginably distant from his proper time and universe, and doing his best to prevent most everything he knows from ever coming to be.

 _That_ hadn’t been an easy decision to make, back when Tim landed in a dark and obviously unutilized cave and struggled through the natural passages only to find Wayne Manor locked up, furniture shrouded against the eventual return of the master of the house. It _hurt_ to come to the cold realization he’d traveled back in time all the way to when a young Bruce was off training to become Batman.

And now Tim’s finding it even more difficult than he’d anticipated to actually walk away from even these meager scraps of his former life.

_I need to just go. This is stupid. Just because Dick was my brother in another life doesn’t mean I have any significance to him here. He has his parents, he’ll be fine. Better than fine._

Red needs to leave now, but _Tim_ winces at the thought of going back to his current life, making his own way in the world as a vigilante, moving from place to place planting the seeds and doing the work to prevent as many disasters as possible. Hiding, avoiding unnecessary contact with anyone, stitching his own wounds and knowing there will be no backup, not now and probably never again.

No one to know or care about _Tim_ at all.

Well hell, in that regard it hasn’t actually been _that_ different from his first year as Red Robin. He should be used to this by now, really. He’s had a lot of practice flying, and falling, without a net.

But this, tonight, is the hardest of all. Not saving the Graysons; of course not, he is _so glad_ to have the ability to save them and especially _Dick_ from suffering all that pain and loss.

But…

Now Dick will never be adopted by Batman. There will never be a Robin, and the family Tim remembers with mixed love and joy and sorrow will never come to be at all in this universe.

Oh, everyone will still be fine. Tim is making sure of that. He’s already anonymously gotten Catherine Todd into rehab and arranged a position for her on her release, and he’ll monitor the situation so if she ever slips back into old habits Jason will never, _ever_ be stuck having to steal to provide for his sick mother, or live on the streets. He’ll look after Steph the same way, and he’s working on tracking down David Cain to save Cass from ever having to take a life.

The Court of Owls is history thanks to Tim’s careful, methodical vigilante work over the years, so even if Dick stays with the circus now, he’ll never be taken and turned into a weapon by those entitled, despicable assholes.

And Tim contacted Janet Drake, who was eventually convinced by his falsified documents and story of being her much younger, illegitimate half-brother. His grandfather’s reputation and tendency to carry on with the maids helped with that, of course; Janet had simply sniffed and expressed her surprise that more half-siblings hadn’t appeared earlier.

Once she’d come to know him, Janet had been very appreciative of Tim’s ready intelligence and wit, offering him a consulting job with Drake Industries, and eventually introducing him to Tiny Tim. It was more than he expected, and now he’s probably going to have to stick around Gotham just for the chance to be present in the little boy’s life and make _sure_ he has a better childhood than Tim’s own.

Red glances out over the crowd and spots the tiny boy, bouncing in delighted excitement and standing on his tiptoes on the seat to try to get a better view of the vigilante who just dramatically saved the star performers’ lives.

 _No months of nightmares about the Graysons falling to their deaths for_ you, _kiddo,_ he thinks with mixed fondness and remembered sadness, watching the child babbling to his distracted parents who ignore him as they gather their possessions in preparation to leave. Tim winces, deciding to visit tomorrow and work out some kind of guardian arrangement for when the Drakes inevitably leave again on their travels.

But… even with all that, it still stings that the family he knew, the one he _had_ in the other universe… they’ll never be a family together, here. Tim thought about it long and hard, and that family just cost too much. He can’t justify letting so many other families be broken, along with all his siblings’ hearts, just to recreate something that will never really be his again anyway.

A family that maybe was never really his in the first place.

 _“Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you!”_ A small weight cannons into Red Robin’s side, jarring him out of his reflections, and he grunts, automatically wrapping his arms around the enthusiastic small boy who is hugging him with tears in his dark blue eyes and a bright smile on his little face.

“Hey,” Red Robin whispers, smiling reassuringly, “It’s okay now, they’re alright. And I made sure the police have all the information they need to catch the bad guys who sabotaged the equipment.” He pats Dick on the back and meets Mary Grayson’s eyes over his head. She glances away, whispering something to John, and _oh wow._

Tim suddenly wishes he couldn’t lip read so well.

“I’m pregnant, Johnny,” she’s murmuring softly to her husband, whose mouth drops open in surprise. “I was going to tell you tonight after the show. John… this is a wakeup call. I don’t think we can take these risks anymore, not with two children to look after.”

John looks shell-shocked, happy but concerned and still stunned by the near miss. He blinks, then shakes his head ruefully. “We don’t have near enough money saved yet to start the gym—”

“We do if we stay here.” Mary smiles, her eyes dancing with familiar merriment. “It isn’t what we’d hoped for, but I bet there will be enough of an interest in aerial gymnastics for us to get the gym off the ground, and Gotham real estate is unsurprisingly very cheap.”

John huffs a laugh, nodding, drawing his wife close. The two embrace, and just hold each other _tight_ as the sounds in the big tent slowly die down. The crowd is being escorted out, and Red Robin _really_ needs to be leaving soon.

He just… wants another minute, to deal with all this. _Wow._

 _Well holy shit. I wonder if Dick ever knew? No, probably not… I bet Bruce buried that detail in the real autopsy reports, to protect him._ Tim squeezes his eyes shut, forcing himself not to think about the loss that night being even greater than anyone realized back in his original universe. _Focus on the here and now, there’s nothing I can do to fix things there._

Dick pulls back, smiling up at him brightly. “Thanks again, mister!”

Red lets his hand rest on the boy’s shoulder another moment, the corners of his mouth quirking up. “I’m just so glad I was here and able to help.”

“Please, you have to let us express our gratitude somehow,” John Grayson is looking at him from his older brother’s face, earnest openness in those achingly familiar blue blue eyes.

Mary Grayson smiles with Dick’s invincible good humor and friendliness. “If you tell us your name, we’ll name our baby after you.” She grins wider at his surprise.

Dick’s head whips around. _“Mom?!”_ He squeaks, then pounces on her with a manic grin. “I’m gonna be a _big brother?”_ He hugs her before breaking away to bounce and dance in place, tiny body apparently unable to contain his excitement at the prospect.

And Red Robin can’t help but _laugh._ It’s rusty and a little broken, but it feels good. “Are you guys sticking around town for a while?”

John nods, slowly at first and then more firmly as resolve crystallizes in his eyes. “We’ve been talking for a while about coming down to earth. An acrobat’s life isn’t kind to the body, and we want our kids to have roots somewhere in a way we never did ourselves.” He stretches an arm over his head, wincing slightly at some hidden pain. “Really, we can’t keep doing this much longer, and we want more for Dick. And little… hey, what was your name again?” And that’s Dick’s playful teasing grin, holy _shit._

“I’m called Red Robin,” Tim says.

Dick’s eyes go wide and Mary Grayson laughs, a beautiful sound that makes Tim want to smile. “Well, Dick is already our little Robin, so we’ll have to nickname the new one Red I suppose.” She cups Tim’s cheek. _“Thank you.”_ Her smile is gentle and understanding. “You obviously have quite a skill set yourself, but come visit us once we get our gym set up, and we’ll teach you a few new moves. Maybe you can use them to save more people, like you saved us.”

“Wait, so now we’re doing the gym thing? But I can still be with the circus over the summers, right? When school gets out? Do I hafta stay in my seat?”

Huh, apparently Dick already knew about his parents’ plan. He never mentioned that, back in the other universe… but then, what would have been the point. _It’s so strange seeing him here with his first family… it makes it all feel so much more real. They’re going to get to see him grow up, this time._

It feels like his heart is simultaneously breaking and spasming in joy at the thought.

John laughs and tousles his boy’s hair. “That’s the plan. We’re the Flying Graysons; we’re not grounding ourselves permanently, just making a place to come to roost.”

A police officer is gesturing for them to come down now and eying Red Robin with suspicion, which he takes as his cue to finally follow the plan and get the fuck out.

With one last smile for the Graysons and a cheerful wave for Dick, Red Robin fires his grapple and makes his way up and out of the tent, alighting on a nearby rooftop and dragging off his cowl to run a shaky hand through his hair. Damn, that was _intense._

 _“God,”_ he whispers, rapidly blinking stinging eyes and pressing a shaking hand to his lips.

Seeing Dick as a kid, so happy with his parents, all of them full of hopes and dreams and so, so much love… _god. I’m so glad I was able to save them._

“I prefer to be called Batman,” a deep, dark voice _growls_ right in Tim’s ear as he becomes aware of a line of heat pressing up the entire length of his back. “…But you can call me that if you insist.”

Red tenses. _Holy shit. I definitely stuck around too long._ Damn _it, now Batman’s gonna throw a fit about me operating in his city, and we’ll fight, and this is going to make everything so much_ harder _than it has to be…_

Red Robin turns his head slowly, eyes widening and brows rising as he incredulously realizes Batman _isn’t wearing the cowl._

Batman is looming directly behind him and has actually leaned his head over Red’s shoulder to growl in his ear. _That’s kind of weird. I mean, sure B loves looming up out of the darkness like a creeper, but normally he wouldn’t come so close to an unknown quantity… and what the hell, why would he take off the cowl?!_

The bigger man doesn’t retreat out of Red’s space, instead brushing his lips right over Tim’s sensitive ear to whisper, “I had hoped to see you in Gotham someday, Red Robin. I know you know who I am; your intervention, while appreciated, has not been as subtle as you seemed to believe.”

 _Well fuck._ Red Robin winces, remembering a few instances of diverting Ra’s al Ghul’s assassins after Bruce refused the villain’s offer to join forces, or otherwise assisting when a situation looked a little too close for comfort during Bruce’s long, dangerous road to becoming Batman.

 _I knew intervening was a risk at the time, but I_ had _to monitor Bruce, and jump in to make sure he was okay. Just because he survived to become Batman in my old universe is no guarantee he would have made it here, and I would_ never _forgive myself if he died or came to serious harm through my inaction._

Bruce continues, resting his chin on Red’s shoulder. “I knew you were there, watching out for me. I didn’t know why at the time, but it’s because… you saw something of yourself in me, didn’t you.” Bruce carefully, slowly allows his hand to come to rest on Tim’s flank, and breathes his next words so softly Tim feels more than hears them. “You’ve lost someone precious too, or you would never have started on this path.”

“My whole world,” Tim whispers involuntarily, flinching at the wrenching pain that shudders through him at the other man’s words. Bruce’s fingers flex on Tim’s side, pulling him closer, and he presses his lips to Tim’s temple in a soft kiss.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine now,” Tim says automatically, and Bruce snorts as though he knows perfectly damn well how very much it _isn’t._

Bruce rubs his face slowly down Tim’s cheek, making an involuntary shiver run through his frame at the sensation of stubble and _warmth,_ and just how long has it been since Tim allowed himself to _touch_ anyone? He blinks as he realizes that before tonight, he really can’t remember.

“You make yourself very difficult to track, Red, but I enjoy a challenge, and it has been a pleasure observing and learning about you. Your work has been inspirational to me, and given me hope when I might have otherwise turned to other, darker paths. I have been following your career for many years now, and always found you to be very… _impressive_ …”

Bruce brushes his fingertips slowly down Tim’s side. “Impressive skills… impressive tactics… impressive ethics… impressive… _physique…_ ” He trails his lips softly along Tim’s throat as those wandering fingertips slide over his hip.

_What._

Bruce smiles.

Tim _feels Bruce’s smile against his skin._

 _What?! What the_ fuck _even…_

“You are magnificent,” Bruce breathes, voice rough, hot exhalation tickling Tim’s ear and causing a tight warmth to gather _so confusingly_ in his belly. “I apologize for taking liberties, but you’re something of a hero of mine, and… watching you in action just now was…” He shudders faintly, hands clenching involuntarily on Tim’s hips, breath picking up speed a little.

 _Oh my god,_ Tim thinks incredulously, as Bruce’s arm steals around his waist and the larger man tugs him back gently against his chest. _Is_ Bruce _putting the_ moves _on me?!_

Bruce spins Tim in his arms and his handsome, _young_ face is alight with hope and desire. “Red Robin, I would like to offer you a… a partnership. You probably know more about me than I can guess, I have studied you for years, and we both want to protect the innocent and halt injustice. I think we have a great deal to offer each other.” He runs a gloved finger under Tim’s chin, slowly lifting it. Tim can see Bruce’s eyes are nearly black with desire, eagerly tracing over every inch of Tim’s exposed face as though memorizing it.

 _Oh MY GOD. This was_ not _in the plan, there is no contingency for this, why was this not in the plan?! Oh yeah, because this is CRAZY and I would never have predicted it, not in a thousand years. What the HELL, B?_

But thinking about it now, Tim can all too easily imagine a young Bruce just starting his training with amoral masters like Ra’s al Ghul. Angry and broken, wanting to hurt to protect, listening with more than half an ear to Ra’s and his false promises of order through chaos and death and control… and then seeing another way, a better way in the mysterious masked stranger who kept sweeping in to his rescue.

A young Bruce watching Red Robin from afar as he quietly saved countless people from terrible fates, embodying the very hero Bruce wanted to be. Being _saved_ by him, multiple times. Bruce making a study of him, analyzing his every action and parsing out his character and morals, slowly learning him, wanting to meet him, just _wanting…_

 _Well, shit. Who’s the stalker_ now, _B?_

But it’s not like Tim’s in any kind of position to pass judgement on a lonely boy, watching someone from afar and _wishing_.

This Bruce is just twenty-five now to Red Robin’s twenty-two, barely starting out as Batman, with no one to help but a sweet old man who can’t be there to back him up out on the streets. He’s subtly different in his demeanor and methods from the Bruce Red knew, and Red suspects that those difference may be due to his own inadvertent influence.

 _He’s set Red Robin_ _up as his ideal, and didn’t drink so deeply from the dark cup of Ra’s al Ghul’s teachings. Isn’t as hopeless or paranoid. Is willing to open up and reach out, even go so far as to share his secret identity and crusade, with at least one person._ Me.

Bruce is a lonely young man, one who has been watching, and _wanting._

 _Oh god this is so fucked up… isn’t it?_ Tim’s frozen in place, knowing he should just make an excuse and leave, but…

Bruce is still smiling at him, and it’s softer now, his eyes openly showing hope and affection and trepidation. “You’re alone, too, aren’t you? I know you are. There’s never been any sign of a partner in the field, or any support. You’re _incredibly_ skilled, but at this rate you’re going to get badly injured eventually, and I won’t be able to help you if I don’t know where you are,” Bruce whispers hoarsely. “Stay. _Please_ stay.” And that _look_ in his eyes…

It’s hope, and hunger, and happiness, and sheer reckless _want._ It’s kindling a fire in Tim’s body that he’s half-afraid is going to burn through him and burnish whatever he’s becoming into something different, something new and stronger and even further than he’s already gone from the boy he was when he landed in this time.

It’s the same look Tim’s seen countless times, right before Bruce kissed Catwoman and Robin fled the scene making gagging noises.

_Oh god. Am I really gonna…?_

Tim swallows. And then he rises up on his tiptoes to meet him.

And.

It is the _best_ fucking kiss of his _life._

Maybe it’s the five years of minimal human contact as he carried out missions on his own and avoided people, maybe it’s the leftover adrenalin from all the action earlier. Maybe it’s _Bruce,_ which is a whole new level of _what the fuck_ Tim doesn’t even want to _try_ to deal with right now.

Either way, it’s a bubbling thrill emanating from the soft, searing kiss and the points where Bruce’s fingertips are now just resting on Tim’s upper arms so gently like he’s afraid Tim will break or run away, zinging down Tim’s body and lighting him on fire all the way down to his _toes_ which are trying to curl inside his boots.

 _Oh shit,_ Tim thinks, blinking dazedly as this young, less broken Bruce smiles at him with such sweetness, an expression of so much _joy_ and happiness lighting his eyes that Tim would’ve never even _imagined_ could exist on _Bruce Wayne’s_ face, and then pulls Tim in closer for another brain-melting kiss.

_I’m definitely going to the special hell._

*

Tim’s vision clears damnably slowly and he furiously curses magic in all its forms as he falls into a ready stance, bo poised defensively in front of him.

Now that he’s here, he just needs to ascertain how dire the situation is in this universe. It’s been eight years since he pressed that big red button and sent his world back a week and Other Tim hurtling off into the unknown, and he _knows_ it’s probably too late to help if his double ran into trouble along the way, but he still has to try. If only there had been some kind of telltale, a trace they could have used to track Other Tim down… but there wasn’t, and he and Bruce have spent most of their free time since then on engineering a device to find Other Tim.

Well, he’s finally here, and now it’s time to try to find Other Tim—

…Or what’s left of him. Tim winces at the very real possibility that he’s too late to save his double from whatever dire fate may have befallen him here, alone and adrift.

Quiet sounds of motion and skin moving against skin. A soft moan and a rough growl, both voices Tim recognizes but suddenly _desperately wishes he didn’t._

 _The wrong universe,_ he thinks, mind frantically seeking alternate explanations for what he is hearing. _There’s no way Other Tim and—_

 _“Bruce,”_ his own voice whispers, to his utter horror. “Y-yes! I… _oh! Ah ah-ah—BRUCE!”_

A deep, possessive rumble, followed by Tim’s name and a low grunt. A throaty chuckle.

Tim whimpers, and the sounds immediately cease. Despite his dread at what he’s about to see, he finally manages to blink his vision clear and take in his surroundings.

Bruce is there, with a batarang in each hand, staring at Tim measuringly from his position seated in the bed leaning back against the headboard, a faint widening of his eyes the only sign he is completely shocked by Tim’s appearance. He’d probably be on his feet by now, but that would involve dumping Other Tim off his lap and that would probably be painful, considering they’re clearly still—

_Oh god oh my god what. What? No. What, why?_

Other Tim is looking back over his shoulder at Tim, still panting faintly in exertion, eyes wide and mouth dropped in surprise.

Tim slowly lowers his bo and clears his throat. “Ah, any chance this is the wrong universe?”

Other Tim stares at him a moment, then smirks wickedly. “Well, there weren’t any dinosaurs here to ride, so—”

Tim barely suppresses the urge to whimper again and covers his ears with his hands.

 _Maybe if I close my eyes and wish really,_ really _hard this will go away?_ He hears Other Tim’s joyous laughter rising and knows his hope is in vain.

_Well, at least he seems happy?_

*

“So you followed through on our contingencies for landing post-death of the Waynes, pre-Batman era, and you _still ended up with the family?”_ Tim’s smiling softly as he watches Dick swing from the chandelier, coaching Rosie through a carefully controlled descent to the ground. The toddler grins happily, waving her chubby little hands to be picked up and giving Jason a slobbery kiss on the cheek when he obeys. The little boy scrubs at his cheek in mock-disgust, but he’s utterly failing to hide a lopsided grin.

Other Tim shrugs, face alight with happiness as he watches the scene. “Well, it’s not what I expected either, obviously. But the Graysons settled in Gotham after their near-miss, and Bruce and I ended up helping sponsor their gym. They travel to coach athletes all over the world now, and we watch the kids whenever they’re gone. Timmy’s basically ours; Jack and Janet have no objection to allowing him to be raised by his uncle as long as they can still show him off at galas and I do my part for the company.”

Both Tims watch as Dick helps Timmy climb up to the chandelier, and spots the six year-old through a neat flip and safe landing. The little boy glows with pride when Dick compliments him, and then all of the children scurry to the door to crowd around Bruce who is carrying a sleeping Damian cradled in his arms.

“The rest of them… well, it just kind of happened.” Other Tim shakes his head. “I tried so hard to help Catherine, but she just couldn’t handle the responsibility of raising a child while fighting her own demons. She loves Jason so much, and she’s still working on her recovery, but… it’s really hard. Anyway, they have visits every weekend, but he’s settled here with us.”

Cass creeps up behind Bruce where he’s seated himself in a rocking chair and stands on her tiptoes to peer down into the sleeping baby’s face. “Brother,” she whispers, smiling sweetly.

Tim tilts his head in wordless inquiry, and Other Tim sighs, nodding. “Yeah, we got her away from Cain before he forced her to kill. Interrupted her training early, and she’s adapting to spoken language faster as a result. And Damian…” He swallows.

“As glad as I am to see him here, are you sure he’s the same? I mean, he was conceived well after your arrival; odds are, genetically he’s at least somewhat different from the Damian in our original universe.”

Other Tim smiles wryly. “Actually, he _was_ conceived very differently here. Bruce and Talia never had a romance, because Bruce was secretly pining after _me_ from afar during that time period, so she just stole some of his man-batter, probably via some poor underpaid ninja having to awkwardly lurk on the ceiling for untold hours and then dart out to rescue a tissue or whatever during Bruce’s _Bruce_ time, and then did the whole test-tube thing without any uncomfortable drugged encounters of dubious consent at all.”

Tim frowns. “Gross. Um, so Damian _is_ genetically different?”

“No, that’s the really crazy part. I checked his genetic code against what I have saved on my wrist computer for Dami, and he’s definitely the same kid. I guess that’s a result of the genetic engineering Talia performed on the fetus; she arrived at the same idealized result despite the variation in starting points.”

“That’s… really fucked up.”

“Yeah, pretty much.” Other Tim shrugs. “Her one-sided obsession with Bruce kind of cooled after he and I became partners, and I was still in the early stages of planning a raid to get Damian from her when a ninja just showed up here with the baby.”

“Holy _shit._ She didn’t want him anymore?”

“Not when he was part of a failed plan to win over a man she realized she was _never_ going to get. Dami was less than a day old; I don’t think she even took the time to hold him herself.”

Tim nods slowly. “Wow. And… there’s no Robin?”

Other Tim’s brows snap down. “No, and there never will be. We’re doing this to _protect_ our kids, not put them in more danger.” He looks _fierce._

Damian stirs, and Bruce bounces him as Rosie climbs up onto his knee to look at the baby. Timmy and Cass apparently don’t want to be left out, and so they clamber up onto the arms of the chair and drape themselves across Bruce’s shoulders. Bruce rolls his eyes tolerantly and rises to his feet unhindered by the numerous children draped all over his body.

Chortling, Jason takes a running jump and grabs onto Bruce’s shoulders, dangling from his back as the big man begins making his way toward the door. Glancing back over his shoulder, he raises an eyebrow at the Tims. “Alfred most likely has lunch ready. Care to join us, or would you prefer to continue your discussion here a while longer?”

Other Tim leans forward in his seat, smiling up at his partner. “We’ll just be a few more minutes, I think.”

The corners of Bruce’s mouth curl and his eyes soften as they trace Other Tim’s smile. “Very well, love.” He turns, grunting as Dick flings himself off the chandelier and onto Bruce, instigating a squabble over space with Jason until they compromise by _both_ hanging off Bruce’s shoulders. Bruce blinks stoically at the various elbows jabbed into his neck and head until all the kids settle, then carefully makes his way out of the room, a fond smile on his face.

The door shuts behind them, and Tim stares at Other Tim, finally able to ask the question that has been on the tip of his tongue since his disastrously timed appearance in _Other Tim and Bruce’s bedroom_.

_“How?!”_

Other Tim blushes, biting his lip. “Will you believe me if I say it just kind of… _happened?”_

“Oh, so you were just walking past his bedroom together and then he _tripped_ and landed _inside you—”_

“No _oh my god this is so fucking embarrassing_ of course not, just… I used to keep track of him while he was training abroad, and saved his life a few times _as one does,_ and he sort of… low-key stalked me from afar and pined over me for years? And then when I came to Gotham to save the Graysons, he confessed, and he was so damn _sweet_ it was like he was this totally different guy and I couldn’t resist?”

Tim blinks at him slowly.

“He’s an amazing kisser and I think he actually kissed my brains out that night?” Other Tim tries.

Tim continues to stare at him judgingly.

Other Tim rolls his eyes. “Oh screw you, we both know you would’ve done the _exact same thing_ in my circumstances.”

Tim shudders. “And _that_ is what is going to haunt me now, for the rest of my life.”

“Yeah, whatever, at least I’m getting some on the regular.” Other Tim smirks.

Tim snorts. “What makes you think I’m _not?”_ His eyes widen in horror. “Oh my god we have a _type,_ Bruce and Jason are the same height and general build…”

“Wait, you actually ended up with _Jason?_ How did _that_ happen?”

Tim grins, chuckling softly. “Well, it was a couple years after you and I split from each other. There was this horribly embarrassing alien ray-gun incident; it created a telepathic connection between everyone who was hit by it. Jason and I were both _inundated_ with each other’s thoughts, from _I want coffee_ to _damn Replacement’s lookin’ fuckin’ fine today, I really wanna bend him over that desk and then buy him breakfast.”_

Other Tim chokes on laughter. “Wow, that’s hilarious. Well, at least you got together, and it was reciprocal so it wasn’t as humiliating as it could’ve been.”

“Oh yeah? When I said everyone who was hit by the ray gun was telepathically linked, I _meant it._ The mental link included not only me and Jason, but also Bruce, Dick, Damian, _and one very confused criminal henchman._ It was the most awkward twenty-four hours of my life. Why are you laughing? _Stop laughing at my mental suffering!”_

*

Batman lands silently on the rooftop beside his partner, trailing his fingertips along Red Robin’s back as they look out over their city together. “He wasn’t just an alternate universe Red Robin, was he. He was from… wherever you’re from originally.”

Red shivers, leaning back into Batman’s touch. “What do you mean?”

“I know you’re from the future, an alternate future.” Red tenses, spinning to stare at Batman who rubs his broad palms up and down Red’s arms soothingly. “Sh, relax, it’s okay, Red. I’ve always suspected, ever since I studied your patterns and actions before we joined forces. You were in the right place at the right time far too often for coincidence, or even skill. It was the most logical explanation.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Red whispers.

“If I am correct, our current timeline has diverged drastically enough to have little in common with that which you left behind, likely in large part due to your efforts.” Red nods, and Batman hesitates before slowly continuing. “And… there’s a certain device, one I confiscated from a minor villain last week while you were on that mission with the Justice League. And the potential consequences of its use… That’s how you got here, isn’t it? And the version of yourself who just left, he’s the one who stayed in your original universe.”

“Yes,” Red breathes, and Batman presses a gentle kiss to his forehead, not knowing how else to reassure his partner. Red closes his eyes, breathing out long and slow. “Do you want to know—”

Batman pulls Red into his chest, and holds him close, burying his face in Red’s neck, hating the tremulous, hesitant note in his precious, incredible Tim’s voice. “Stop. Nothing you don’t want to tell me. From what I understand of that device, I already have my suspicions, but I don’t need them confirmed. I am satisfied with our life together and I cherish what we have built.” He leans back and meets Red’s beautiful, worried blue eyes. “There is _nothing_ you could tell me that would threaten my love for you.”

_Please believe me. It doesn’t matter where you’ve come from or who we once were to each other in another lifetime, only what we have together now._

Red Robin finally relaxes, and presses a soft kiss to Batman’s jaw. “I’d really rather not go into details, then. This world is different, _we’re_ different from the people there. I’m happier here, with you, than I ever was in my life before.”

And hearing that, Batman lets go of the one lingering fear he has carried ever since he realized his loved one was a man displaced in time and space. Still… “You wouldn’t go back?”

“Never. You’re my home, now.” And the certainty and happiness in that beloved voice sets all his remaining doubts to rest. _I cannot even imagine my life without you, Tim…_

_…And thank god I don’t have to._

Bruce huffs a soft laugh as he draws his partner in for a searing kiss. _Perhaps we’ll cut patrol short tonight. After all, we_ were _interrupted earlier…_ He grins, already planning which safe house to christen, and all the different ways he can express to Tim how very much he _appreciates_ him.

Red Robin pulls back and promptly flushes at whatever he sees in Bruce’s eyes. Then smirks, and leans back in for more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Other Tim, after saving the Graysons from their horrific doom:** “Welp my work here is done, guess I’ll leave Gotham and never return” *Noticeably fails to leave*  
>  **Young Bruce, making heart-eyes at Other Tim:** “Hey there I’ve been watching you for years wanna go see my… Cave?” *Subtly leans closer to inhale Other Tim’s scent in way that isn’t at all creepy*  
>  **Other Tim, unaccountably charmed:** “Sure!” *Throws dignity and sense of shame to the wind, embarks on whirlwind romance with boyishly cute young Batman*  
>  **Tim, coming to Other Tim’s rescue and landing in universe at worst possible moment:** “Ew, ugh! GROSS, you got it ON me, how did you get it ON me” *Claws desperately at suspicious white droplets on arm*  
>  **Other Tim, shrugging:** “He’s the goddamn Batman, normal human limits are nothing to him” *Pets Bruce’s hair as Bruce stares in bemusement at duplicate Tims*  
>  **Young Bruce, slowly smirking:** “I like these dreams” *Eyes second Tim, reaches for him* “Leave the cape on”  
>  **Tim, shrieking in horror and clawing at eyes:** “WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY”  
>  **Other Tim, giggling evilly:** “I’ll tell you when you’re older” *Kisses Bruce happily, regrets nothing*  
> *  
> So. Ahem. That… happened. Anyway, I've had less time for writing lately, but I'm planning to continue to post oneshot what-if scenarios for the Where's My Goddamn Dinosaur universe here as I finish them. I… did not intend to lead with the Bruce/Tim chapter, but that's how it happened so now that's what we all get to live with. 
> 
> I've got lots of fun ideas for future chapters, and look forward to sharing them with you when they're ready. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed the story!


	2. Future Point of Divergence (Damian/Other Tim)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I want coffee_ , Tim thinks blearily as he staggers in the general direction of the tray Alfred just set down, drawn by the enticing aroma of freshly brewed coffee. He needs some more fuel to finish going through the load of cold cases B assigned them all to work on while they wait for this really freaking annoying side effect to wear off. 
> 
>  
> 
> _Damn, Replacement’s lookin’ fuckin’ fine today, I really wanna bend him over that desk and then buy him breakfast._
> 
>  
> 
> Tim’s eyes widen in shock and he freezes like a startled deer, heat rushing into his cheeks as the import of the words just spoken by Jason’s deep, rough voice in his head crashes through his stunned mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What if… the time travel device did not work as expected, and Other Tim’s journey through time and space went in an entirely _different_ direction?

_I want coffee,_ Tim thinks blearily as he staggers in the general direction of the tray Alfred just set down, drawn by the enticing aroma of freshly brewed coffee. He needs some more fuel to finish going through the load of cold cases B assigned them all to work on while they wait for this really freaking annoying side effect to wear off.

Bruce doesn’t trust them with anything more sensitive right now, which is actually pretty reasonable considering how difficult it is to really concentrate under the circumstances. Otherwise, he and Tim would probably be buried in their calculations trying to track down Other Tim. He feels a familiar stab of pain and guilt at the thought of his double, lost for over two years now, then pushes it aside to focus on the current tasks in this moment.

Right, coffee, then cold cases… He yawns, lifting his arms high over his head and enjoying the delicious stretch, blinking muzzily before brightening as he spots the coffee again. _Mmm._ He licks his lips in blissful anticipation.

_Damn, Replacement’s lookin’ fuckin’ fine today, I really wanna bend him over that desk and then buy him breakfast._

Tim’s eyes widen in shock and he freezes like a startled deer, heat rushing into his cheeks as the import of the words just spoken by Jason’s deep, rough voice in his head crashes through his stunned mind.

 _…Make it pancakes and you have a deal._ Tim winces in horror as the thought accidentally slips out, humiliation blooming as cold hard logic ruthlessly crushes the idiotic hope that Jason actually _meant_ anything by it—

Then he hears Jason’s blurted, very excited but slightly panicky stream of consciousness, _Oh fuck yeah! But I’d rather just eat_ you _—oh_ fuck _I can’t believe I just said that to Tim, Jesus Christ, the fuck is_ wrong _with me I’m gonna blow it OR MAYBE JUST BLOW YOU oh fuckity fuck, nice goin’ Todd, now he’s never gonna wanna date you, Tim’s CLASSY goddamn it you gotta fuckin’_ court _him like he deserves—_

 _Consider me courted,_ Tim’s mind says without his consent, and he feels his cheeks flush as his ridiculous brain keeps going because he apparently has no mental filters. _God Jason’s so cute when he’s flustered. And the rest of the time too oh god I can’t believe this is actually happening I wonder if he’ll let me lick his thighs, if so I must do this immediately._

Tim barely manages to cut himself off from describing all his embarrassing sexual fantasies about Jason in excruciating detail by rapidly picturing a glaring Bruce dressed in a tutu. Then Killer Croc in a tutu. Batman and Killer Croc clumsily attempting to perform a ballet duet together while both wearing tutus. Ah, excellent, arousal completely gone.

 _What,_ Jason’s mind whispers disbelievingly as the big man drops his hands from where he’d been burying his face in them as though to hide. _Timmy… yeah?_

There’s a dopey, painfully _hopeful_ grin dawning on Jason’s blushing face, and _oh. Yes. HELL yes. Um, but let’s just start with the pancakes? …We’ll see where things go from there. With the licking and so forth._ Tim manages to stop before embarrassing himself even further, but it’s a near thing because his heart is zinging in his chest and he’s smiling so hard he’s pretty sure his face is gonna ache later.

Jason’s just staring at Tim, still with that endearingly dopey grin, so Tim leaves him to it and finally grabs his much-needed coffee. Just in time, because the stunned, blessed silence that’s been reigning in their shared mental space since Jason’s unexpected observation is finally broken just as Tim takes his first glorious sip.

 _Oh. My. GOD. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod, Jaaaybird, Tiiiimmy, baby brothers NOOOOOOO—_ Dick’s horrified mental wailing continues unabated and Tim’s just figured out how to tune it out as background noise when the others apparently decide it’s time to chime in on the discussion, because Tim’s life is apparently now _telepathic hell._

 _Todd, cease your disgusting depravity this instant! How dare you sully Drake with your filth! At least_ attempt _to control your baser instincts lest I be driven to castrate you and dull my katana on your inferior peasant flesh!_

There’s something off about Damian’s mental voice as the fourteen year-old continues his diatribe, but Tim has no desire to waste any mental bandwidth worrying about the kid right now. Dick will probably deal with it later if it’s important; he’s pretty good at translating Damian’s rants into whatever stunted emotions the brat’s actually feeling.

 _Boys._ Bruce’s mental voice rumbles and carries with it the weight of authority, which would probably be more impressive if Tim couldn’t hear the panicked background thoughts Bruce is trying and failing to suppress.

 _Do they intend to become sexually active with each other. Are they_ already _sexually active with each other. Is Tim being coerced. Does Jason_ hurt _Tim? …Maybe Tim_ likes _that? Abort, line of thought both unconstructive and deeply disturbing. Must update slideshow and subject them to it again. Repeatedly. I wonder if Clark would be willing to chaperon them on their dates, that worked to keep Dick from becoming sexually active in his teens—_

Bruce’s mental voice trails off as he becomes distracted by his own thoughts, which allows Dick’s cheery voice to echo distressingly loudly in their shared mental space as he breaks off his ridiculous lamentations to chuckle at that.

 _Heh heh no Bruce it most emphatically did_ not _work the way you thought, Clark’s way too innocent and easy to trick. I managed to get around your restrictions just fine; Wally, Kori, Roy, Babs, the Batmobile and a whole_ pile _of well-used condoms can all bear witness to_ that… _Oh holy_ sexual experimentation _Batman, I did_ NOT _mean to think all that out loud—_

 _HAHAHA daaaaamn Dickie you dog—_ Jason’s laughing mental thought train veers suddenly into a jumbled mess of startled profanity interspersed with Damian’s triumphant exclamations and incoherent threats as Tim hears a loud thump from across the Cave and then watches the pair go rolling past, wrestling and growling at each other on the floor.

He spots the flash of a katana, watches Jason manhandle the smaller boy into a partial hold, and then winces as Damian sinks his vicious little gremlin teeth deep into Jason’s shoulder. Fortunately, Jason’s wearing his jacket, but Tim isn’t convinced Damian won’t find a way to get through it given enough time and his current inexplicably high level of rage. He should probably intervene, but it doesn’t seem to be worth the inevitable vicious bite from a thwarted Damian. Hmm, maybe he can get someone else to step in? Damian hardly ever bites Dick or Bruce anymore, _they_ should be the ones to take care of this.

 _Um. Shouldn’t someone…_ help _with that?_ Tim tries, but is ignored as Bruce zeros in on the totally irrelevant revelation that one of his Robins defied him at some point in the distant past. The Bat immediately concentrates on interrogating Dick to the exclusion of everything else going on around them, because that’s how B rolls and honestly, Tim should know better than to expect anything else by now.

 _Dick. Explain._ Bruce’s attention is focused squarely on his adult son, instead of his teenage _brat_ who may or may not be on the verge of gruesomely maiming one of his other sons right now. Tim rolls his eyes and refills his coffee. Why does he even bother.

 _You… misheard?_ Dick’s mental voice says weakly, faint but persevering. _Clark was a great chaperon who never ever fell for the tricks I definitely didn’t play on him in order to get alone time with my absolutely not too numerous to count dates?_

 _Dick,_ Bruce growls. _You know I made those rules for your_ protection—

 _Whatever, we_ used _protection! LOTS of it. And I’m a grown man and I can do who I want! You’re not my_ real _dad!_

 _Of course not._ Bruce sounds puzzled. _Based on all reports, your mother was a fine, loyal woman whom I never inseminated at any point. Additionally, I have carried out numerous genetics tests on you over the years which all served to confirm your parentage—_

_Ugh, B… weirdly invasive, and also. Not the point!_

_How old are alla youse guys, anyway? I know Nightwing’s been around long enough he’s for sure legal, but Red Robin’s awful scrawny and small, and Red Hood’s whole crime lord act_ reeks _of teenage rebellion. Youse kids should listen to your dad, he’s just tryin’ to take care o’ ya!_

Their mental bickering screeches to a halt at the gruff, unfamiliar voice joining them.

 _…Damian._ Bruce’s mental voice fills the ensuing silence.

 _Tt._ Tim snorts with amusement at the realization Damian’s verbal tic is so ingrained, it apparently comes through even in the brat’s innermost thoughts. Along with the teen’s usual petulant, put-upon tones. The boy scowls and narrows his eyes rebelliously. _I_ told _you, Father,_ Pennyworth _should be in charge of this menial duty—_

_Alfred has other duties to attend to, and you are the only one not doing anything else constructive—_

_Like it or not, brat, keepin’ the damn henchman under’s_ your _job and it looks like you’re too busy getting’ your ass kicked by me to fuckin’_ do _it right—_

Tim squeezes his eyes closed at the confusing cacophony, Damian and Bruce and Jason’s voices all tripping over each other in his mind.

_Ugh. Need to invent mental ear plugs._

Multiple concurrences sound in his mind, overlapping so much Tim can’t actually discern who’s thinking what.

 _Ah geez, are youse guys gonna drug me again so I don’t figure out your identities and shit?_ The henchman’s mental voice sounds resigned.

Tim would feel sorry for the poor guy, who really wasn’t doing anything more incriminating than unloading some crates into the Iceberg Lounge at the worst possible moment when Penguin let loose with his newly acquired untested alien ray gun in a doomed attempt to bring down the Bats, catching the poor schmuck in the crossfire, but the guy’s actually been surprisingly reasonable about the whole incident.

It isn’t _his_ fault everyone hit by the ray gun temporarily gained a telepathic connection to each other. And it _certainly_ isn’t the henchman’s fault that every single one of the Bats on the scene was also hit, except for Cass who of course had the necessary intelligence and agility to _dodge,_ managing to pull Steph out of the line of fire as well.

Tim momentarily considers the idea of both of them being involved in the mental link as well, and shrugs. It’s not like Cass doesn’t already know what everyone’s thinking anyway. And Steph would probably bait and tease everyone equally, which would at least be entertaining.

At least the effects are supposed to be temporary, and should fade within a day or two. And really, it could be way worse. Penguin could’ve managed to accidentally shoot _himself_ as well. Tim shudders at the thought of _that_ jerk’s voice in their heads, supplying a constant stream of snide commentary and slimy awfulness.

 _Maybe you shoulda thought harder before you took a job for fuckin’ Penguin, asshole!_ Jason clearly doesn’t feel bad for the henchman.

Then again, Jason got shot in the _ass_ by the ray gun, so Dick and Damian have been giving him a hard time about that being where his brain is actually stored. Tim grins, mentally chuckling at that again _because it’s hilarious_ , and Jason shoots him a quick betrayed glare clearly having picked up on his thoughts.

 _Maybe I took that job to put my daughter through school, sass-hole!_ The henchman manages to silence all of them and Tim watches Jason’s face twist as he tries to hold the glare but doesn’t manage to suppress his surprised snort of laughter.

_Heh. Guess this fucker’s not beyond redemption after all._

_Tt._

_That was… pretty bad. Which means his sense of humor apparently fits right in with us. And his motivations for engaging in a life of crime_ are _compelling, if misguided._

_I like him! Can we keep him?_

Bruce’s dreary, put-upon mental sigh cuts through their chatter. _Damian, just drug the henchman._

_Geez, B, you always gotta take all the fun outta everything, ya big bastard._

_He’s like a black hole for joy and it makes me sad._

_Father does not have_ time _to engage in_ joy, _imbeciles!_ Damian glares at them all as he carefully drugs the extremely cooperative, relieved-looking henchman into a renewed peaceful slumber.

The poor guy’s muttering to himself in his mind as he falls asleep. _Damn I hope this is all over when I wake up… gonna pretend it was all a weird dream… Ain’t ever gonna look at Bats the same way again after_ this _though…_

Tim chuckles, shaking his head, then smirks. _So, Jay… pancakes?_

He laughs aloud at the ensuing uproar, then catches the interested, _hungry_ look on Jason’s face as the other man lifts a challenging eyebrow at him. _Oh, Baby Bird… that’s just the first course. After all, what I_ really _want’s a taste of_ you, _Sweetness_.

The big man’s exaggerated leer makes Tim blush from head to toe and it’s only Damian’s loud war cry that gives Jason enough warning to dodge before the katana sweeps through the air. At crotch-height.

Tim winces and gulps in sympathy, then snags one of the other coffee mugs off the tray and settles back to watch. He’s already resigned to the fact he won’t be getting any more work done tonight, not with all these dorks constantly bickering in his head.

Whatever. He loves these dorks, so it’s okay.

 _We love you too, Timmy!_ Dick’s happy, carefree mental voice is at odds with the sight of the man diving headfirst into the fray, clutching a snarling, snapping Damian. _No irreversible maimings, Dami! Bruce, parent your son!_

_Jason, no engaging in intercourse with your brother until you have watched the updated slideshow._

_Ugh Jesus B, fuckin’_ phrasing _what the fuck you make it sound so bad, why are you such an ass. Timmy’s_ never _been my goddamn brother-_

 _Eeeew baby brother sex_ gross _, la la la I can’t heeeaaaar yooooou—_

 _Grayson, release me_ at once _that I may solve this problem_ permanently!

 _Um, B, I don’t think Dick meant_ that _son when he asked you to step up and do your parental duty…_

_Very well. Tim, the same goes for you. Now come watch this slideshow._

Tim sighs, shakes his head, and rapidly calculates the odds he will be able to escape the accursed slideshow of shame and horror.

They aren’t good. He narrows his eyes, considering.

Well, if he can’t win, at least he can take the rest of them down with him… He smirks. _Sounds good, B! Why don’t you put it up on the big screen?_

_Good idea. I am sure everyone could use the refresher._

Tim listens as outraged, horrified, and just plain desperate cries of dismay fill the air, and smiles, satisfied.

*

Timothy is hunched in his seat at the Batcomputer again, tousled hair and assemblage of empty coffee cups indicative of the length of time the young man has been there. He doesn’t glance up or even twitch as Damian moves close enough to see the screens, and if Damian didn’t have cause to know otherwise he might think the elder hadn’t observed his approach at all.

He knows better, of course.

Damian glances at the information displayed upon the screens, disappointed but unsurprised to see the complex intersecting matrices modeling the portion of the Multiverse already studied by his elder brother and father over the past five years in their futile search for the copy of Timothy Drake, theoretically created by experimental technology and then launched to some distant _when_ and _where_ , some unknown place where none of them can follow.

 _They will never give up._ The corners of Damian’s mouth quirk down at the thought. _Idiots. The clone may not even exist; there is no proof after all of the device having functioned as expected. Even should he have been created, chances are he has already been killed, trapped as he must have been in some alternate universe with no support or resources._

Ignoring the sharp stab of pain in his chest at the images that fill his mind _—Timothy in pain, Timothy fighting desperately against some faceless foe, or worst of all, Timothy falling at_ their _hands, other versions of themselves who do not know_ Tim, _who have no idea how precious is the treasure they have in their ignorance and violence lost…_

Suppressing a sigh, Damian places a fresh coffee cup at Timothy’s elbow and collects several of the empty mugs. He surreptitiously slips a nutritious energy bar into Timothy’s loosely clenched hand as it blindly reaches for the mug, and internally celebrates when the smaller man automatically draws it up to his mouth and mechanically takes a bite, beginning to chew. The dark shadows beneath his brilliant blue eyes are concerning, as is his level of absorption in his task.

 _Perhaps Pennyworth will consider this situation sufficient cause to administer a mild sleep aid in the next mug, if the decaffeinated beverage I have just foisted upon him is ineffective._ Damian’s brows draw together as he narrows his eyes at the impossible, intelligent, ridiculous, beautiful _fool_ before him.

 _If only Todd hadn’t gotten there first. The abysmal moron cannot possibly realize Timothy’s true value. Certainly if he understood, he would not leave his Beloved_ alone _in this manner._

Even as the thought passes through his mind, Damian grumpily chides himself for being unreasonable. After all, Red Hood was needed on this mission, and is due to return shortly. He left Timothy in the most capable hands possible, Pennyworth’s, and in the end, it is not actually Todd’s responsibility to harass his boyfriend into performing the basic self-care expected of a functional adult.

However.

Damian looks again at the small form huddled over the keyboard, empty energy bar wrapper crumpled in the grip of one delicate hand and coffee mug drained but still clutched tightly in the other. A reluctantly amused smile spreads across Damian’s face as he regards the endearing image before him.

“Of course,” he whispers, allowing the fondness he feels to steal into his voice only now, when none can hear him, “Of _course_ you even refuse to relinquish coffee whilst you are asleep.” Shaking his head slightly, he steps forward and gathers his wayward brother tenderly in his arms. “Todd shall return soon, and I suppose you must find his care adequate, else you would never remain with the lout.”

Timothy murmurs something softly and buries his face in Damian’s chest. Damian freezes, then carefully resumes carrying the smaller man up to his room, where he will remove his shoes, tuck him into bed, and _certainly_ not spend the remainder of the evening imagining some other world, in which Timothy managed to dodge that accursed alien weapon, and thus was never exposed to Todd’s lurid stream of consciousness and therefore never entered into a lamentably happy relationship with the scoundrel.

 _Although in that case, I likely never would have realized the depth of my own emotional attachment to Timothy._ Damian muses for a moment, then shrugs. _At least he would not now be dating_ Todd.

_Worth it._

*

Damian takes a seat at the Batcomputer, pausing when he feels the faint, lingering warmth from Timothy in the chair and then mentally berating himself for noticing.

 _He will never be yours,_ he thinks to himself sternly. _Even were he and Todd not involved, Timothy would never contemplate a romantic relationship with someone he still considers to be a child. With someone who lashed out against him, unjustly attacked and verbally demeaned him for years. It matters not that I am now seventeen, and have improved considerably in temperament, understanding and empathy since my impetuous youth._

Damian scrubs a hand over his face, then leans back away from the computer, sighing.

 _If only I had recognized my feelings as a nascent attraction earlier,_ he muses. _Instead, when I arrived in Gotham and my heart raced and my stomach felt unsettled in Timothy’s presence, I assumed he must be intentionally doing something harmful to me and responded accordingly. It took_ Father _and_ Grayson _drawing me aside after the mind link betwixt us all was finally severed to bring me to a realization of the truth of my own emotional state._

He shudders as the humiliation of _that_ particular memory washes through him. Even the matching embarrassment and discomfort obviously experienced by his eldest brother and father during that heinous, excruciating conversation offers little comfort. Although Grayson’s extreme distress once he realized Damian’s vicious attacks on Todd during the mind-link were a result of _jealousy_ rather than disgust is somewhat amusing, in retrospect.

Unlike the pained look on Father’s face as he realized his fourth son was attracted to his third, and so little equipped by his upbringing to deal with such emotions that he had harassed and bullied the object of his unacknowledged affections for _years._

And the expressions of pity on both of their faces, with the echoes of Timothy and Todd’s affectionate banter still fresh in all their minds constituting absolute proof that Damian’s newly-recognized attraction would remain unrequited. Not that Damian’s continual unmerited aggression toward Timothy over the years had left any doubt of that outcome, regardless.

Damian closes his eyes and inhales deeply, holding his breath and then slowly releasing it in a bid to force his body and mind calm.

He must not waste this brief window of a few scant hours during which Timothy will be resting and Damian may continue the elder’s research, perhaps sparing Timothy some small amount of effort in his perpetual self-appointed mission to seek the fate of his other self—

A weight unexpectedly materializes out of nowhere, directly _on top of Damian,_ pressing hard against his chest and down on his lap, knocking him breathless for a moment as his eyes snap open and his hands instantly reach for batarangs.

His body snaps into readiness, prepared to _fight_ to defend his loved ones, his _home,_ even as his mind speeds up to process incoming sensory information and develop an appropriate plan of attack.

 _But_ who _could have intruded_ here, _and without raising any of the alarms—_

Damian’s torrent of thoughts slows and ebbs to a stunned silence as he stares at the slim, pale hands which have closed around his own. They’re shaking slightly, minute muscle tremors potentially a sign of injury or exhaustion.

They are _familiar._

As is the messy, soft black hair which is currently tickling his nose, and the faint, achingly _enticing_ scent underlying the acrid tang of sweat and old blood. _Timothy._

_Impossible._

The batarangs slip from his fingers and clatter on the hard Cave floor unheeded as the slim boy in his lap twists to face him, and stares at him out of Timothy’s wide, brilliant blue eyes, delicate mouth dropped open in stunned surprise.

Even had Damian not just left Timothy asleep upstairs safely ensconced in his and Jason’s bed, he would know this is not the same man. This boy’s face is softer, and he is perhaps an inch or so shorter than Damian has seen him since… He inhales sharply.

Since Timothy was just a teen. Around the age _Damian_ is now.

Damian’s heart clenches tight in his chest at the battle-weary look in this Timothy’s eyes, his torn and stained gear hinting at unseen injuries and a long, hard fight, one Damian is not certain ended in a win.

 _Timothy… he looks so young and small, feels so light. Looking at him like this, I cannot for the life of me recall… how I could ever have wished to harm him. But_ how…?

*

Tim wakes up in the Cave and opens his eyes. He’s slouched in a chair in front of a version of the Batcomputer he doesn’t recognize. _Welp, guess I’m Other Tim. Damn._ He blinks tired eyes, setting aside the pressing loss and sorrow at never seeing his own world again to deal with later once he’s gotten to a position of relative safety. So, probably never. The corners of his mouth tilt down for a moment before he manages to lock it down.

_…Where’s my goddamn dinosaur?_

His body is tense, heart racing with the adrenalin of days fighting invaders with no real down time, followed by more than sixty hours alone in the Cave getting everything ready for the plan. Well, clearly he won’t be the Tim enacting that plan.

But that’s not the most important aspect of his current situation. No, that would be the fact he is _definitely sitting on someone’s lap right now._

Someone big, and muscular, with hard strong thighs he can feel right through his suit, a broad chest he’s pressed back against, and big hands that are _unmistakably going for batarangs_ right now.

 _Oh shit,_ Tim thinks, automatically snagging the larger man’s wrists to prevent what’s probably some early version of _Bruce_ from stabbing him somewhere crippling and painful before beating the crap out of him and tossing him in an interrogation cell to await what will almost _certainly_ be a particularly brutal and unforgiving questioning as the Bat tries to root out exactly what Tim knows, what his plans may be, and how much of a threat he constitutes.

_Great._

Tim’s mind flies, skipping as he tries to reconcile the conflicting information streams he is receiving. The Cave looks _wrong,_ nothing like the outdated equipment and arrangement he would have expected after time traveling into the past. Everything, the suits, the trophies, the gear… none of it’s missing like he would have expected had he landed at an earlier point in Batman’s career. If anything, there is _more_ than he remembers.

Almost as though…

Tim blinks rapidly, possibilities forming and dissolving in his mind’s eye as he tries to work out what the heck is going on.

 _“Impossible,”_ a deep, familiar but _not_ voice breathes right in his ear, and Tim unintentionally shivers as the hands he’s still holding twist to catch his own in a gentle grip.

 _That is_ not _Bruce,_ Tim thinks inanely, twisting in place to stare in shock at _Damian’s face._ His _adult,_ annoyingly _gorgeous_ face. Golden brown skin, beautifully sculpted bone structure, challenging black eyebrows flaring over gorgeous green eyes, and oh man, there’s even what looks like the beginnings of the pout that was petulant on the twelve year-old and should be _illegal_ on the adult.

Even his _hair_ is sexy, windswept like he’s just been swinging through the streets, or maybe working out _another way,_ between the sheets…

 _What the fuck._ Tim blinks hard, then opens his eyes and oh hey, hot adult Damian is still _right there_. Tim is suddenly _very_ conscious of that fact that he’s sitting on this Damian’s _lap._

 _Oh god. There is… definitely no contingency plan for_ this.

Tim gulps. “Um.” Damian is staring at him, clearly just as shocked by this development as Tim is. Tim realizes Damian is still holding his hands and blushes, tugging gently until the larger boy seems to notice and lets go, a dark flush rising to his chiseled cheekbones.

Tim frowns, taking in the current configuration of this Cave again, as well as Damian’s appearance. The other boy looks mature and likely rivals Bruce in height, although his build is a bit slimmer than his father. He looks at least Tim’s age, if not a bit older, which means…

 _Evidence is indicative of this being some point in the future, not the past. But that’s not even possible, it doesn’t make any_ sense! _If the new alternate universe spun off at a future point of divergence from the timestream I was in when I activated the device, then I should have just appeared in an empty Cave, the same as I left. Maybe with a few more spiderwebs? Or like, alien overlords. You know, whichever. Not grown-up hunky sex-on-legs_ Damian.

Tim is so absorbed in his thoughts, he doesn’t even notice Damian jumping slightly in surprise beneath him and then blushing even harder, eyes wide as he stares at Tim.

 _So possibly instead of the device sending me to a newly formed divergent copy of my original universe, it just sent me to a completely_ different _, unrelated alternate universe? But how to figure that out… hmm, have to ask questions. Maybe Superman’s a woman here, or Dick hates hugs. Damian hasn’t tried to stab me yet, maybe I don’t exist in this universe?_

Damian clears his throat, breaking Tim’s train of thought and he blinks, focusing back on the other boy’s dangerously beautiful face. Damian raises a brow slowly. “Perhaps instead of hypothesizing without gathering sufficient information, you could consider asking my opinion?”

Tim tilts his head inquiringly, curious about the other’s take on the situation. He’s certainly not reacting with violence the way the Damian Tim knew would. Maybe the Bats have some experience with multiversal incursions here? He nods for Damian to go ahead.

“Timothy. I believe… we have been searching for you for quite some time. Five years, as a matter of fact. If, as I suspect, the words _Other Tim_ are of any special significance to you.” Damian watches him expectantly.

“How…” Tim blinks rapidly as the pieces fall into place in his mind. The most logical explanation for all this—Damian roughly five years older, the way the Cave looks, most importantly, Damian _knowing about Other Tim—_ “Oh my god,” Tim whispers, staring into space as he attempts to unravel _how_ the device could have functioned so differently from their expectations.

Damian slowly nods, and when he speaks his voice is achingly soft and reassuring in a way Tim’s only heard him use with injured animals in need of comfort. Which should probably feel more insulting than it does; instead, it only makes Tim feel safe.

“I believe your reasoning to be correct, Timothy; you have _not_ traveled to an alternate universe at all. Five years ago, our Timothy traveled back in time one week and averted a world-ending event. The device he utilized was known to have created a clone, who was lost, supposedly in both time and the multiverse. And now… apparently, you have arrived _here.”_

Tim lets out a slow, shuddering sigh, feeling the adrenalin drop as his body catches up with the realization that there aren’t any enemies to fight right now, no world-ending aliens or aggressive pre-Tim Batman to fend off.

Just a weirdly friendly, unbelievably attractive _Damian_ , whose hands are even now gently soothing up and down Tim’s sides.

_What the…?_

But it feels so good, and Tim’s feeling _really_ tired all of a sudden now that the exhaustion’s had a chance to catch up to him.

“Timothy, you are injured.” Damian’s murmur sounds _concerned_ of all things, and Tim chuckles softly at the incongruity of it all. _Weird to hear him like that, like he’s actually_ worried _about me. I’m way more used to Damian sounding_ happy _when I’m hurt._

He hears a sharp intake of breath above him, and then feels warm, strong arms lifting him up and carrying him, setting him down on a hard surface he recognizes immediately as a medical cot. As his eyes drift closed, he feels warm, big hands deftly removing his suit to access his injuries and hears Damian’s hushed voice calmly narrating what he is doing as he begins to gently tend to Tim’s hurts.

He’s so careful and respectful, and it feels so good to be tended to and cared for… especially when it’s the _last_ thing Tim expected once he opened his eyes and realized he was Other Tim.

_I thought I was going to be alone, for as long as I could manage to keep it together and push on. Do as much good as I could before I inevitably fell._

_This… I was not prepared for_ this.

Damian’s long, shapely artist’s fingers run gently through Tim’s hair, probably seeking more injuries but it feels _so good_ Tim instinctively leans into it. He hears a shaky sigh from above him as the fingers continue to caress his scalp.

The whole situation is so surreal, it feels like a dream. And with that realization, Tim finally relaxes completely. “Oh, of course it’s just a dream,” he whispers to himself, smiling without bothering to open his eyes. “Damian growing up so _nice?_ And caring about _me?_ Pff, definitely some kind of subconscious wish fulfillment.”

He hears a choked noise from Damian, and ignores it. It’s just a dream anyway, nothing Tim says here matters.

“Not gonna lie, I’m kinda surprised my subconscious mind made Dream-Damian so damn _hot._ I mean, holy _shit,_ we all know he’s gonna be smokin’ when he grows up, genetics don’t lie, but _wow._ ” Dream-Damian’s hands still for a moment, then resume cleaning and bandaging Tim’s wounds. It doesn’t sound like Dream-Damian is breathing, but whatever, people probably don’t need to breathe in dreams.

“I hope I have this dream again…” Tim grins sleepily, stretching a bit as whatever painkillers Dream-Damian hooked him up with kick in and he goes boneless. “Maybe next time we can play _doctor.”_ His snickering trails away as he succumbs to the built-up tension and stress of the past few hellish days and passes the fuck _out._

*

Damian is in a dazed state as he carefully finishes tending to Other Timothy’s injuries, which are fortunately minor enough to only require first aid and the type of rest and nourishment which the Manor can readily provide. Finally finished, he allows himself to straighten up and press his hands to his _flaming_ face.

_That was most… unexpected. Quite… flattering, to be honest._

His gaze drifts over the time traveler laid out upon the bed, noting the dark circles and other signs of exhaustion on that delicate face and feeling a swell of protective affection that startles him with its strength.

This Timothy needs care, and has no one to provide it. Damian remembers with shame his own harsh behavior, so long ago for him and yet so recent for this boy out of time, and wonders. Based on Other Timothy’s exhausted ramblings, the other boy is not entirely unaffected by Damian and may not be as entirely opposed to a friendship, or something rather closer, as Damian would have imagined.

Damian’s heart is racing at the events of the past hour, as well as the realization which hits him in that moment. _This Timothy is Damian’s age, and he is unattached._

_Perhaps…_

Damian shakes his head, clearing away his childishly hopeful imaginings, and moves to contact the others. They have been searching for so long, and deserve to hear the news as soon as possible that the one they lost has found his own way home.

*

Damian sighs as he pulls on his uniform, the silence in the Cave reminding him that Todd’s return means both versions of Timothy will have left the Manor by now to accompany him back to the Nest. It is for the best, of course, but Damian feels the absence like a wound. The past few days have been immensely satisfying, assisting both Timothys and his Father with analyzing the time travel device and determining the subtle but important errors in the initial data which failed to predict Other Timothy’s arrival here.

Watching the two doubles working together, building off each other’s words and sharing intuitive leaps has been a true pleasure, and Damian must work to suppress his rising melancholy that he will no longer be in a position to do so now that Drake and Todd have retreated to their home and, of course, taken Timothy with them. He frowns pensively.

“Patrol’s gonna be that bad, huh?” Startled at the unexpected voice, Damian look up only to see Timothy standing nearby, fully outfitted in an updated Red Robin suit and watching him.

“Timothy. I thought… you were to remain with Todd and Drake for the time being?” Damian stares at Timothy in confusion as the smaller boy shakes his tousled head and leans back against the wall, eying Damian with some amusement.

“Nope, definitely not,” Timothy says, smirking and then chuckling. “Those two are way the heck too demonstrative for me to consider being in the same house as them for any length of time.” He tilts his head. “Maybe a visit now and again, but I _really_ don’t need to see and hear what they get up to all the time.”

Damian frowns. It does not make sense; if one Timothy Drake is able to fall in love with Jason Todd, surely both of them have that capacity…

“Are you not planning to join their relationship?” Only after he has spoken does Damian consider the possibility that he has been too blunt, and on a matter which is technically none of his business. He suppresses a wince, hoping Timothy does not take offense.

Timothy's eyes widen and his mouth actually drops open as a ferocious blush suffuses his delicate face. “Um. What.”

Damian fights back embarrassment, annoyed to feel a flush rising to his own cheeks. “I simply meant… I assumed… Polyamory is not unknown, and the two of them…”

He bites back his own awkward babble, inwardly indignant at being reduced to stammering. Gathering his composure, Damian restates his question. “I overheard Todd and Drake discussing you after your arrival in this time, and both expressed willingness to invite you to join with them. Neither wished to leave you out in the cold, so to speak.”

At Damian's candid words, Timothy lowers his gaze, still blushing and shifting awkwardly in place. “Ah, yes. They did actually say something like that to me… which was really great of them, honestly. But… it would be so weird, wouldn't it? They both have this history now, together, and I know nothing about it. And. They're a lot older.”

Timothy bites his lip, glancing up to meet Damian’s eyes before dropping his again and continuing slowly. “I think I would feel like an intruder, and kinda creeped out by the age difference. I mean, I'm still seventeen, and they're twenty-two and twenty-four. I’d feel like a third wheel in a slightly skeevy relationship with older men, not to mention one of them is literally _me,_ which is… yeah. I don’t think I’m super into self-cest.”

Damian unwillingly snorts at the expression, relaxing infinitesimally at the welcome reassurance that this Timothy at least will not be bestowing himself upon Todd. Not that it is any business of Damian’s, of course. He takes in Timothy’s outfit again. “Red Robin? I had assumed you would choose a new identity to differentiate yourself from Drake.” He lifts an interrogative brow.

Timothy shrugs, eyes twinkling. “Maybe eventually, but for now we thought it could be useful to have two Red Robins running around. Could be helpful to confuse the perps and get the media off Tim’s back. Maybe I’ll do something else eventually, but we can see a lot of ways to use this to our advantage first.”

Damian huffs an amused laugh, imagining _many_ ways in which the devious pair will likely use this contrivance to the detriment of their foes. “I shudder in anticipation of the inevitable mayhem. Well then, Timothy. If you do not intend to live with Todd and Drake, what _is_ your plan?”

“So, about that…” Timothy looks up at him with big blue eyes. “The Manor, for the time being. I’m still working on the long-term. But for _right_ now…” He flashes a sharp smile that has Damian’s heartrate picking up at the promise of excitement, of _danger._

“They don’t want me just jumping in on the vigilante thing and patrolling on my own, which is reasonable considering how much has likely changed in the past five years. But the way I hear it, you’ve moved on from Robin and are running on your own these days, Blackbird. Any chance you’re looking for a partner on patrol?” He looks both hesitantly hopeful and guarded, as though he believes there is any chance Damian will respond negatively.

Well. There is only one way to answer _that._

Damian lifts and presses his black mask to his face, completing his uniform, and then reaches out a gloved hand, not bothering to hide the pleased, likely far too possessive smile slowly growing on his face.

Timothy takes his hand, an expression of happiness lighting up his lovely face, and Damian leads him over to his motorcycle, offering him the spare helmet and then finding himself ridiculously aware of every point their bodies are touching as the slighter boy climbs up behind him and grips around his waist.

 _After all,_ Damian tells himself unconvincingly, _it only makes sense to stay close together on our first patrol as Timothy gets to know Gotham again. Sharing a vehicle is eminently reasonable under the circumstances._

As he drives out of the Cave, Timothy pressed up _tight_ against his back, beautiful laugh rippling delightedly in his ear, Damian wonders how long he’ll be able to stretch that excuse and keep sharing a motorcycle with the other boy.

 _At least a week,_ he thinks, mind awhirl with plans. They round a bend and Timothy’s thighs grip Damian’s hips in a way that… _well._

_…Perhaps two weeks._

*

There’s a mug in Tim’s hand that he doesn’t remember picking up, and an empty wrapper in front of him which, added to the faint taste of blueberries and crumbs on his lips, probably means…

Tim swivels around in his chair, grinning openly when he visibly startles Damian, who is of course standing right behind him, staring over his shoulder while he works on updating the most recent drug shipment patterns in Old Gotham.

He smirks up at the taller boy, who gives up on his attempt to regain his lost composure at being caught and smiles somewhat helplessly down at Tim.

“Were you just… standing there, waiting for me to fall asleep again?” Tim’s smile softens when the other boy blushes.

“I considered the probability of your falling asleep within twenty minutes to be quite high, particularly in consideration of how late we were out last night assisting Drake and Todd with their stakeout.” Damian lifts his chin imperiously as he continues playfully. “I could not allow you to sleep in that position; you would never be able to straighten your neck again and then what use would you be to me on patrol?”

Tim tilts his head, then shakes it. “You’d just massage it out for me,” he teases, and Damian frowns.

“Of course I would. But it is infinitely preferable to simply avoid the injury in the first place.”

Tim narrows his eyes. “…So I’m guessing you’re not gonna admit to plying me with _decaf_ to get me to fall asleep so you can stay up all night finishing our case and then surprise me with it in the morning?”

Damian lifts a brow as a smile slowly spreads across his handsome face. “Why ever would I admit that. Even were I to commit such a heinous act of betrayal, I would never confess to it, lest you cease to fall for such benevolent interventions in the future.”

Tim rolls his eyes, studying the other boy. There’s affection and banked heat in those smoldering green eyes, and that underlying trace of concern and worry Damian gets when he thinks Tim isn’t taking good enough care of himself.

 _Ugh, I’m such a sucker,_ Tim thinks as he huffs a laugh and tips the last of his execrable decaf into his mouth, then reaches up both arms for Damian whose eyes widen in startlement before his lips curve into a soft smile and he leans forward to scoop Tim up in his strong arms.

Damian presses Tim close to his chest and Tim grins to himself as he feels the taller boy drop a thoughtless kiss on his hair as he begins making his way toward the stairs up to the Manor.

Tim wills his pounding heart to settle the fuck _down,_ geez.

 _It’s not like Damian would ever really be interested in me in_ that _way…_ Tim’s brow furrows slightly as he reminds himself the other boy is simply being kind, and his actions don’t mean anything beyond that. _It’s just… hard to remember that he’s doing this out of a sense of duty and probably barely even tolerates me on a personal level, when he’s acting so damned_ sweet _._

It’s becoming more difficult to remember Damian is off limits with every day spent in his company, the taller boy’s courteous demeanor and kindness covering an incisive wit and protective ferocity which is every bit as appealing as his gorgeous exterior.

 _Down, boy._ Tim mentally rolls his eyes at himself and hopes he gets over this embarrassingly hopeless crush _soon,_ because at this rate someone’s bound to notice and with his luck it’ll be Jason, who’s grown up to be a total _asshole,_ so of course he’ll immediately tell snarky older Tim, and then the teasing and pity will be _endless_ and _mortifying._

Tim’s eyes are drooping heavily as he feels Damian lay him down with infinite care on his bed, tug off his shoes, draw the comforter up to his chin, and brush the hair back from his forehead, lingering for a long moment before whispering, “Sleep well, Timothy.”

He freezes in the doorway for an instant when Tim can’t stop himself from sleepily replying, “G’night, Dami,” turning back to give Tim a tiny, sweet smile before carefully shutting the door and moving away.

In the quiet darkness of his room, Tim wills his stupid, giddy brain to shut up about Damian and just go the fuck to sleep.

For some reason, it isn’t very effective.

*

Damian’s jaw is tense and he’s _furious,_ supreme gentleness in his hands as he traces the bruising on Timothy’s smooth, normally pale cheek at odds with the _rage_ he is experiencing, all directed inward.

 _I promised never to hurt him again, never to raise my hand to him… I_ swore _it, and look at us now. What I have done._

He cannot recall how it was, how it once felt to _want_ to hurt Timothy. Nor does he wish to do so. Bile rises in his throat at the realization that doesn’t matter, because apparently he can all too easily hurt him anyway.

“Hey, Dami, I’m fine. What’s going on in your head?” Timothy reaches up to try to catch Damian’s hand, and Damian flinches away as he catches sight of the lurid bruising again.

_I am not fit to be touched by you, why do you not appear to understand this. I will only hurt you again, it matters not what I desire when my actions speak so clearly and condemn me so thoroughly._

Timothy stares at Damian, brows drawing together slightly in concern as he regards the taller boy. His knowing eyes glance from Damian’s now-trembling hand to his guilt-ridden stance, and he shakes his head, looking concerned. For _Damian_. “It was an accident, Dami. These things happen on patrol sometimes. You had no way of knowing that ninja would grab me and use my body to shield himself from your next blow.”

He tilts his head, smiling gently in his attempt to coax Damian into a better mood. “Anyway, you managed to pull the punch so I barely even bruised, _and_ we were able to work together in sync to bring them all down without any serious injuries. Well, except the ones you gave the ninja who got me hurt.”

Damian glares darkly, feeling absolutely _no_ regret at the extra beating he administered to the fool who _dared_ lay hands on Timothy. At least he was able to do _something_ right tonight.

Timothy bites his lip, worried blue eyes focused on Damian. “So… will you please tell me what’s wrong?” And even though he should be walking away, should protect Timothy by not inflicting his presence upon him… Damian cannot bring himself to deny a request from this slender young man who has come to mean _everything_ to him.

“I hurt you.” The words spill unbidden from Damian’s lips, and he closes his eyes as though that will stop the hideous image from replaying in his mind over and over again, that of _his_ gauntleted hand striking brutally across Timothy’s delicate face, frozen in an expression of shock because Timothy _trusts_ him, did not anticipate the possibility of having to defend himself against his partner in the field.

It is followed by a cascade of similar images of violence from years gone by, Timothy stabbed and falling, beaten and hurt, and it’s _Damian’s_ hand on the knife, the batarang, striking with intent and hatred and everything he never wants to feel again, would now give so very much to amend. “I am aware it was a mistake, but…”

Damian opens his eyes again and fixes them on Timothy’s kind, beloved face. “I _never_ wanted to harm you again. I already offered you more than enough violence for a lifetime, and how you are able to forgive that I do not know.” He rubs a hand across his eyes, shaking his head.

Timothy catches Damian’s hand in his, squeezing it reassuringly. “Hey, Dami… you aren't the only one who feels guilty about how we used to treat each other, you know.”

Damian raises his head, eyes widening slightly in disbelief. He tilts it, frowning, certain he has heard incorrectly. “Timothy, what do you mean? I was always the aggressor, attacking you without provocation or true reason beyond my own jealousy. You were not at fault.”

Timothy is shaking his head swiftly and decisively. “Damian… I was older than you. If anything, it was _my_ responsibility to be the mature one in our interactions, and I really did a bad job at that a lot of the time. I mean, I was going through some stuff myself, but that doesn’t excuse how I reacted to you. And there was _definitely_ provocation; I tried to rile you up half the time and you know it.”

“You were simply responding to my aggression toward you.”

“It doesn't matter. You were a _child,_ Damian, and raised by people who taught you nothing _but_ aggression, fighting techniques and very little regarding human interaction and relationships. I should have been more understanding of your background, and tried to reach out to you instead of just finding ways to needle you until you snapped.”

“Timothy, it was in no way your responsibility to continually turn the other cheek. I would merely have struck it had you offered me the opportunity.”

Timothy sighs, rubbing his hand across his brow. “I can't help wondering if we could have worked things out sooner, become closer like we are now way earlier, if only I had kept trying back then.”

Damian closes his eyes. Timothy is in error, through no fault of his own. The smaller man has no idea Damian did not come to terms with Drake through long discussions of emotions and gradually coming to an understanding; rather, the detente came instead through a sudden realization that all his previous responses had been based on an unfamiliar, but very warm emotion toward the former Robin.

_It is humiliating, but I must tell him lest he continue to blame himself for my errors. Timothy has a tendency to take the weight of the world upon his own shoulders and I cannot allow him to bear the burden for our past, when it belongs to me._

Damian inhales deeply, attempting to calm himself for the coming painful revelation. “Timothy.”

The other boy glances up at him expectantly. “Yes?”

“I assure you, you were never to blame for our antagonistic interactions, and being kinder to me would in the past merely have exacerbated the problem.” Damian closes his eyes, then opens them again, staring at a point somewhere beyond Timothy's left shoulder. “Several years ago, I came to the realization… that my feelings for you were not what I had believed.”

“Well, yeah.” Timothy quirks a sweetly lopsided smile up at him. "You went from severe hate to mild dislike, eventually followed by reluctant friendship, right?”

Damian sighs, huffing a small, pained laugh. “Ah, no. Timothy, I realized that I had been attracted to you for the entirety of our acquaintance, and that my emotional development had been so severely warped by my upbringing, my natural response to that attraction was to mistake it for loathing and behave accordingly.” He squeezes his eyes closed, unwilling to see Timothy's disgusted reaction to his revelation.

 _Sharing this information is essential, regardless of my own humiliation,_ Damian reminds himself. _Timothy deserves to know it was never his fault._

Instead of angry words or Timothy's soft footfalls walking away from him, Damian feels a gentle touch pressing on his hand. “Dami,” Timothy whispers in a soft voice. “Hey. Come back.”

Reluctantly, Damian opens his eyes to see Timothy's beautiful face, closer than before. “I apologize,” Damian says stiffly. “I know it must render you both uncomfortable and disgusted, to know I harbor such an interest in you.”

Timothy blinks slowly. “Well. It _is_ a surprise, a little bit.” He bites his lip. “But not at all unwelcome? And nothing about you could ever be disgusting to me. Like, kinda the opposite? Seriously, you can’t have missed how into you I am.” He shuts his mouth, nibbling at his lower lip nervously.

As Damian slowly lifts his head, staring at the other in disbelief, Timothy blushes fiercely. “I hadn't ever thought about you that way before I landed in this time, I swear! You were a kid back then, I _wouldn't…”_

Damian rolls his eyes. “Of course not, Timothy, that goes without saying.” He slowly quirks a brow, disbelief warring with hope as his heart begins to pound in his chest. “Do you mean to imply that with time, perhaps…?”

Timothy smiles up at him. “Um, yeah. Maybe not that much time, either.” He blushes fiercely, but pushes on. “Patrolling with you these last few weeks has been great. Once I let go of my expectations based on how you used to act around me and started to get to know the real you, I realized you’re pretty amazing. And Dami…”

Damian swallows thickly, emotions swirling and making him feel like he might just float away on the rising tide of disbelief and joy swelling within him. “Yes, Timothy?”

“Since I landed here in this time, I've felt so… out of place. Don't get me wrong! I mean, everyone's great, and you've all tried to make me welcome. But… there's already a Tim here, living the life that would have been mine, and I can't help but feel pretty… extra. Like no one really wants or needs me here.”

Timothy looks down, shoulders tugging inward, and Damian can do nothing to control his body leaning forward to put a hand on the smaller man's shoulder and pull him in for a hug, wanting to physically reassure him of his place and desirability.

“You would not say that had you been able to see how desperately they have worked over the years, attempting to locate and retrieve you from the Multiverse,” he whispers fiercely into the smaller boy's soft hair.

Timothy chuckles into Damian's chest and nods. “I know, I know, it's just…” He shrugs, apparently lost for words to explain his feeling of displacement.

“I am sorry you feel this way. Is there anything more I may do to assist you?” Damian has a feeling there isn't much he would not be willing to do to help Timothy. The very thought of the other boy _not_ being here is enough to make his throat tighten and his stomach clench; how can he explain to the other how very needed and wanted he truly is?

“Um, you've _been_ doing it the whole time, Dami. What I was going to say before… You've been the one to always make me feel welcome, and wanted, and helped me start to make my own place here in this world. And you're… _you._ Intelligent, and competent, and so _kind._ I've been worried about how much I've grown to care for you over the last few weeks when I thought you probably barely tolerated me at best and were just being nice to me out of obligation. And now, you're telling me you actually _care…_ Damian, don’t you realize I'm already more than half in love with you?”

Damian sucks in a breath in shock and forgets to release it as he slips a hand under Timothy's chin and tilts his head back in a daze to meet those brilliant blue eyes, sparkling now with a deeper emotion.

“Timothy,” he whispers, watching as they grow closer. One or both of them lean in, and all at once they're kissing, and Damian's arms are wrapped _tight_ around the smaller boy, stumbling back until his knees bump into something and they collapse into the chair at the Batcomputer. He curls himself around Timothy who is somehow now on his lap, and then they’re both smiling and then laughing into the kiss, and Damian doesn't care to ever stop.

He presses fluttering, light kisses over and over again to that beautiful, grinning mouth as Timothy attempts to return the favor, finally settling with his face tucked into the crook of Damian's neck.

 _Well,_ Damian thinks dazedly. _That went significantly better than expected._

*

Tim’s in Damian’s lap, straddling those lean, muscled hips, arms wrapped around his broad shoulders, Damian’s large, dexterous artist’s hands buried in his hair, being kissed breathless and grinding down slightly _oh hell yes_ when a faint sound startles them both to instant alertness.

“Very nice,” Red Hood’s mocking and supremely unwelcome voice rises from the depths of the Cave as he peels himself out of the shadows and strides forward, helmet tucked under his arm, teasing grin on his face sending up all kinds of internal red flags.

“Good reflexes, kiddos, but I think you can put those away now. Quit _handling_ Timmy’s _staff,_ brat, unless you _want_ your fuckin’ dad to catch ya fuckin’.” He gives an exaggerated leer, then laughs like a _bastard_ when Damian recoils in horror _._

 _Oh god. Please don’t let that mean_ Bruce _is hiding somewhere in here, watching me corrupt his_ son. _Damn it. He’s gonna come bursting out from behind the Batcomputer at any moment, isn’t he. Creepy melodramatic jerk._

Blushing furiously, Tim carefully returns the batarangs in his grip to Damian’s belt pouches, and feels Damian deftly folding Tim’s bo and placing it back in his harness. “Um.” Tim attempts to will his blush away, then gives it up as impossible. “Exactly how long were you standing there?”

“Almost as long as Dick, a few minutes longer than B.” Red Robin sidles out of the shadows behind Red Hood, who snorts in deep amusement as Damian actually _twitches_ in dismay.

“Father?” Damian’s voice actually cracks slightly on the word, causing his blush to deepen painfully.

Tim rubs a thumb reassuringly on Damian’s wrist at hearing the other boy’s uncertainty and embarrassment, but there isn’t really much he can do to mitigate the sheer level of _awkward_ now filling the Cave like the stench of a particularly virulent fart.

As is usual in such situations, he blames Jason.

Batman slowly materializes out of the darkness, his dramatic entrance somewhat spoiled by Nightwing immediately happily dropping down from… _somewhere_ on the ceiling and using Batman’s shoulders as a springboard on the way down.

Batman glares briefly at Nightwing, who blithely ignores him, having grown immune to batglares at some point over the many years of their association.

Nightwing bounces over to Tim and Damian, suppresses a shudder of horror as he takes in their positioning, and then visibly steels himself, giving them a forced, slightly manic smile. “Hi guys! While I’ve learned through painful experience there’s actually nothing I can do to stop my little brothers from growing up and entering romantic relationships with each other, I _do_ have the right and the duty to chaperon you until you’re legally adults so you don’t make a bunch of questionable decisions you may later come to deeply regret.”

Tim blinks up at him. “Um.”

Red Robin rolls his eyes and joins them, gently nudging Nightwing away despite his protests. “Yeah right, Dick, like _you’re_ one to talk about questionable life choices. I mean, Discowing, really?”

He shakes his head at a pouting Nightwing, then glances apologetically at Damian and Tim. “Sorry in advance, guys, Dick’s still very traumatized by me and Jay getting together and will likely as a result spend the next six months annoying you by popping up on your dates, trying to impose a curfew on you to discourage sexual activities, and sitting between you during movies. Also ostensibly to discourage sexual activities, but I’m pretty sure he just wants all the cuddles for himself.”

Dick looks mildly offended, then sighs, nodding.

“C’mon, Baby Bird, you gotta warn ‘em about the rest of it!” Red Hood folds his arms across his chest and glares at a flustered Nightwing. “Like him followin’ us around on patrol all the damn time, buggin’ our uniforms to spy on us, and crawlin’ out from under our fuckin’ _bed_ like a goddamn horror movie.”

Nightwing blinks, turning a questioning gaze toward Red Hood. “But I didn’t bug your uniforms…?” Tim finds it mildly concerning that Nightwing apparently isn’t going to protest the rest of Red Hood’s accusations, and makes a quiet mental note to _seriously_ improve his security before spending any private time getting to know Damian better.

As one, everyone turns to look at Batman whose looming form takes on a slightly abashed stance. “I needed to make sure you were being safe,” he growls.

Red Robin looks supremely unimpressed. “Welp, guess you got what you deserved then, because I’m pretty sure we didn’t find and disable those bugs until _after_ some very private activities you almost certainly did _not_ want to overhear.”

Batman’s shoulders sink infinitesimally lower and he gives a minute, jerky nod, with a haunted look indicative of deep and abiding trauma. “It was the night you two discovered your mutual interest in role play.” He shudders and Red Hood laughs, long and loud.

“Yeah you’d know all about _that,_ wouldn’t you, Bats, don’t even _try_ to tell me you ain’t into all that kinky shit, not with your fuckin’ obsession with leather and _punishment_ and tendency to dress up like a goddamn _rodent_. Gotham’s avenging furry, ladies and gentlemen!” Red Hood’s grinning and Red Robin’s face palming to hide his smile as Nightwing laughs out loud at the look of horror on Batman’s face.

“It is pronounced _fury,_ Todd, you drooling nincompoop!” Damian’s voice rises, hot and indignant in defense of his father, and Tim feels it is his duty as Damian’s new… whatever the heck they are to each other, to lean close and whisper an explanation in his ear.

At Damian’s widening eyes and renewed blush, Nightwing clears his throat loudly right beside them. “Hey, break it up, you two!”

Tim snorts. “What, are we not even allowed to _talk_ to each other until we turn eighteen?”

Nightwing tilts his head inquisitively. “Who said anything about eighteen? You guys aren’t gonna do more than hold hands until you’re at least _thirty.”_

As Damian and Tim both protest while Jason laughs uproariously like the evil bastard he is and Red Robin begins soothingly leading Nightwing away, patting him gently on the hand like a small child, a loud _thump_ sounds from a dark corner of the Cave and everyone immediately stills, facing the potential threat.

It resolves into Batgirl, helplessly snort-laughing on her back on the ground, having apparently laughed herself right off the rocky shelf she was hiding on. Blackbat melts into existence beside her and helps her up, smiling in gentle amusement.

Batgirl manages to regain her composure, shoving her cowl off and shaking her long blond hair loose as she smothers the last of her giggles. “Okay, so who had ‘in the batchair’, and ‘after patrol’?”

_What._

Red Hood snorts, shrugging. “I went with ‘in the kitchen’ and ‘while sleep-deprived’, because that’s usually when any Tim’s most likely to start narrating his inner thoughts. Y’know, before the coffee kicks in. Thought that’d be the most likely time for a sappy confession.” He turns and presses a quick, apologetic kiss to Red Robin, who sighs but shrugs in acknowledgement.

“Ugh, you’re right, that could’ve totally worked. _I_ bet on ‘in a safe house’ and ‘while injured’; as partners on patrol there was a high probability of one of them eventually being injured and in the course of giving and receiving medical attention a confession of their feelings was exceedingly likely, particularly if drugs and or blood loss were involved.”

Red Robin stares into space, eyes flickering back and forth slightly as he thinks. “Actually, my prediction very nearly came true tonight; had those ninja been even marginally more skilled, or Timmy and Damian less accustomed to working together, they would almost certainly have needed to book it to the nearest safe house to patch each other up after patrol, and all this would have come out there.”

He narrows his eyes, nodding slowly, and Tim has a momentary dysphoric sense of how utterly disturbing he can be when he gives himself over to cold logic. Also a brief moment of resentment that he’s henceforth and forevermore going to be known as _Timmy,_ just because there are two of him here.

_Eh, whatever, could always be worse._

He blinks. “…So what I’m getting from this is you guys all knew Dami and I were both secretly into each other, and were totally betting on how we’d eventually get together because you’re all jerks with no sense of personal boundaries.” Tim feels Damian’s longsuffering sigh and gives one of his own in commiseration. _Our family are all assholes._

Batgirl nods brightly. “Yep! I bet on ‘in the showers’ and ‘after patrol’, so I was half-right!” She rolls her eyes at them. “Couldn’t even make it to the showers, geez, you guys are impatient!”

Blackbat blinks. “Batchair. Sleep dep.”

“Oh yeah, good call!” Batgirl grins, bumping shoulders with Blackbat. “Timmy always gets so tired and cuddly when he works too long, and Dami’s so freakin’ _sweet_ with the way he always carries him up to bed—”

Damian clears his throat, and when he speaks his voice is slightly higher than normal, tinged with embarrassment. “I take it you have been observing us closely for the past weeks, awaiting our imminent confessions.”

Only Batgirl and Blackbat have the grace to look even slightly embarrassed, and they’re probably faking it. Nightwing shrugs unapologetically. “You guys _are_ underage, and Timmy’s new to this time. Of _course_ we kept an eye on you. But… we stayed out of your way and gave you a chance to actually get to know each other without smothering you!” He smiles winningly.

And. When he puts it like _that…_

Tim twists on Damian’s lap and meets his thankfully not _too_ embarrassed gaze. “I _am_ glad to have had this time just with you.” He huffs a little laugh. “And I am definitely _not_ going to waste much time worrying about our weird family creeping on us all this time, because yeah. _Bats._ We kinda really should’ve expected it.”

Damian nods solemnly, hand skimming up Tim’s back to rub the back of his neck. “Indeed.” He lifts a sculpted black brow challengingly at the others. “Well? If we _must_ be subjected to this ridiculous drivel, at least inform us. Who won the bet?”

Everyone looks at Nightwing, who scowls, shaking his head. “I had ‘in the Batmobile’ and ‘during an Arkham breakout’.” As Damian and Tim both jerk in horror and begin protesting that they would be too busy apprehending rogues to do anything like that, he waves them off. “I know, I know… but emotions run high during a crisis, and who _hasn’t_ gotten up to something in the Batmobile once or twice or thirty seven times?”

His cheeky grin falls slightly as everyone stares at him judgingly and Batman audibly makes a note to himself to have the Batmobiles fumigated, and Nightwing sighs. “Fine, fine… but if it wasn’t me, then…”

Everyone turns to stare at Batman, who somehow freezes and manages to look even more supremely uncomfortable than before. “Not me.” He glares at them until he seems to realize no one’s going to give up any time soon, then sighs. “Damian’s room. After watching a movie. Likely of the science fiction genre, possibly fantasy.”

Tim twitches in surprise, and feels Damian do the same as they both remember the movie marathon they’ve been planning for later this evening. _Yeah, that will never not be creepy…_

Batman resumes glaring, directing it at Batgirl as she coos over how unexpectedly adorable his scenario was for how the boys might have gotten together.

Red Robin blinks, then raises a brow. “…Babs?”

The intercom clicks and Oracle’s warm, amused voice fills the room. “Sorry, I had ‘on patrol’ and ‘while drugged.’”

Damian makes a disgusted face. “You thought Timothy and I would confess our undying love for each other whilst under the influence of Poison Ivy’s despicable concoctions? How cliché.”

Oracle’s delighted laugh rolls through the room. “Hey, it’s tried and true, kiddo, don’t knock it.”

Batgirl makes a face, looking around the room. “Then _who…?”_

“Ahem.” Eyes widening, everyone turns to the foot of the staircase where Alfred stands, impeccably dressed and dignified as always, with only a tiny twinkle of mirth in his eye to reveal the true depth of his amusement. “Ah, I believe that would be _my_ prediction.” He lifts his brows minutely and nods toward Tim and Damian. “Young masters. Whenever you are ready, I have prepared a small celebratory repast in your honor upstairs.”

With a slight nod, Alfred turns and retreats up the staircase beneath the bemused stares of his gathered family.

“I don’t know why we didn’t expect that,” Batgirl whispers.

“I learned a long time ago never to bet against Alfred,” Nightwing agrees hollowly.

“If I’da known _Alfie_ was in on the pool, I wouldn’t even have _tried,”_ Red Hood grumbles as Red Robin pats him on the arm comfortingly, then squeaks and blushes as Red Hood obligingly pats _him_ on the ass, grinning.

Nightwing smiles as Damian stands and assists Tim to his feet, tucking a hand in the small of his back to lead him toward the stairs. “Hey guys! Leave room for Batman between you!”

Damian glares at his older brother and deliberately, defiantly wraps both arms around Tim who just sighs and melts into the embrace.

Red Hood snorts with laughter and grabs Nightwing by the shoulder, pulling him away from the boys. “Fuckin’ Christ, Dickie, ya gotta let ‘em be or you’re just gonna make it worse.”

Nightwing blinks up at him worriedly. “Worse how?”

Red Robin smiles, sharp and wicked, then leans in to whisper… _something…_ in Nightwing’s ear. Nightwing pales in horror, turns to stare at Tim and Damian, then practically _flees_ to change out of his costume and make a strategic retreat up the stairs, followed closely by Batgirl and Blackbat.

Batman eyes the tableau with suspicion, then apparently makes the judgement call to engage despite the risk. With an awkward nod to Damian and Tim, he pats them on the shoulder. “Damian. Timmy. I am… happy… for you boys,” he says haltingly. He then smirks. “Actually, if you have a moment after Alfred’s party there is something I want to show you…”

Meeting Red Robin’s look of true horror over Batman’s shoulder, Tim twitches as he realizes what Batman is _definitely_ talking about.

 _Oh damn,_ he thinks regretfully. _Guess we_ will _be waiting until we’re at least eighteen to get up to anything fun… it’ll probably take us_ twice _that long to recover any libido after watching Bruce’s goddamned slideshow._

As Batman strides off, stripping out of the suit to leave at the lockers on the way so as not to break Alfred’s rule about suits in the Manor, Tim shakes his head, sighing.

He meets Red Robin and Red Hood’s understanding, fond, and slightly wistful gazes and gives them a little smile, remembering their offer and _wondering,_ just for a moment—

But Damian’s hand tightens around his waist, and the taller boy is nuzzling into his neck and smiling so sweetly that it’s impossible for Tim to do anything other than spin in his embrace and wrap his arms around his neck so he can stand on his tiptoes and kiss that gorgeous smile as the sounds of the others fade and they are left alone in the Cave.

He meets Damian’s eyes and they both stare at each other for a moment before breaking into helpless laughter, carried away on a tide of relief, happiness, and _what the fuck_ by the revelations of the past hour.

Damian squeezes Tim close, then lifts him right off his feet, hugging him _tight_ and spinning him around in exuberance, both of them still laughing, and it’s _dizzying,_ Damian’s beautiful green eyes the only thing Tim can really see through the blur and the movement. His heart’s racing and he’s hyper-aware of all the places he’s pressed against the devastatingly sexy taller boy, and…

Well.

Tim smirks, then chuckles as his face splits into a grin. _Maybe it won’t take_ that _long to recover from the slideshow._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tim and Jason, mind-linked:** “OMG we’re in looooooooove!!!” *Enthusiastically begin to loudly compare kinky sexual fantasies, immediately go at it like bunnies*  
>  **Bruce, Dick, Damian, also mind-linked with Tim and Jason:** “Kill me now” *Desperately try to physically separate Tim and Jason, fail*  
>  **Damian, snapping furiously at Jason’s ankles:** “Todd you unspeakable CAD, I shan’t allow you to taint Drake’s dainty purity with your filthy, likely diseased and malformed unmentionables! Come here so I may sever them!” *In process of attempting to render Jason a eunuch, accidentally gives away gigantic crush on Tim, to mutual horror of EVERYONE*  
> *  
>  **Damian, alone in Cave pining after Tim:** “Oh, that I might have another chance with my fair Beloved! Alas, such an opportunity shall never fall into my undeserving lap” *Weeps piteously*  
>  **Other Tim, literally falling into Damian’s lap:** “Oh, hello there” *Bats giant blue eyes up at Damian, smiling shyly*  
>  **Damian, burning with the fiery passion of rampant teenage hormones:** “My Beloved! We must instantly consummate our union” *Thoroughly kisses Other Tim, who shrugs and goes with it because hey, Dami grew up HOT*  
>  **Batfamily, bursting out of nowhere to cockblock like a boss:** “Hey guys!” *Become increasingly uncomfortable as Damian and Other Tim continue to vigorously get it on* “Uh… guys?”  
>  **Alfred, appearing to tut chidingly:** “Young masters, you know better than to engage in such activities without the proper supplies” *Extends tray of condoms and personal lubricant; as expected, sight of their Grandpa handing them lube shames boys into never engaging in public sexual activities again*  
>  **Other Tim, Damian, sadly standing up and separating:** “Yeah yeah, sorry, we’ll come have dinner now” *Sneak condoms and lube off the tray and shove them in their pockets for later, smirking deviously* “Dessert later” *Utterly fail to hide intentions from Batfamily, don’t even care*  
> *  
> Thank you to everyone who has read, given kudos, or commented on this story so far! Also, thank you to the Capes & Coffee Tim Drake discord server, which helped motivate me to write a decent chunk of this chapter during sprints (special thanks to those who commented on the first couple of scenes when I shared the drafts on discord!)


	3. Janet/Talia; Jay/Tim+Accidental Baby Acquisition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Timothy and his partner will be taking care of you from now on.” Janet Drake addresses the now-sleeping baby in Talia’s arms as though perfectly convinced she will somehow both absorb and understand what the woman is saying.
> 
> _Watching this, I’m suddenly understanding a lot more about my childhood._
> 
> “The _fuck_ is goin’ on here? Jesus fuckin’ _Christ,_ don’t tell me we got a kid now, Prettyboy. I just stopped on the way home to pick up the damn _groceries._ I was _not_ gone long enough for you to somehow conceive and gestate our child.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What if… Janet Drake and Talia al Ghul became romantically involved after teaming up to take out R'as, and had a baby together?

Talia watches her tiny, precious baby girl flail her fat little arms, delicate fingers spread like starfish while she stretches, small head blindly questing as she seeks her mother in her sleep. Her miniature rosebud lips stretch in a gummy yawn and her eyelids flutter for a breathless moment before she settles, mouth falling open slightly as she relaxes into a deeper sleep.

A wave of love and aching tenderness for this tiny, helpless creature she helped create rolls through her being and nearly chokes her with its strength. Her eyes burn and she knows she would do _anything_ to protect this little life, this small person for whom she feels so very responsible.

Knows too in that moment that it isn't _enough_ , will never be enough.

“Darling,” her lover’s arms wrap around her waist and Janet Drake rests her sharp, shapely chin on Talia's shoulder to regard their nearly three month-old daughter closely for a moment before dismissing the infant and focusing on her lover. “She is perfectly healthy and has been fed and changed according to the recommended schedule. Standing here staring at her is neither required nor encouraged for healthy physical and mental development. Come to bed.”

Smirking red lips and the blatant invitation in those pale, incisive blue eyes send her heart racing. Janet’s smirk widens as she observes her reaction and then slim, fine hands are caressing her sides with the thrilling promise of things to come.

She wants to twist around and take her lover in her arms, mark that fine white throat, _bite_ those red lips to show the world this beautiful, brilliant, quite possibly mad but most definitely _unique_ woman is _hers._

If she turns, Janet will put those fine hands, sharp but _talented_ tongue, and implacable mind to work on her, bringing her to the brink of bliss and then _beyond_ again and again, so much better than any of her previous lovers have ever managed. And then, _she_ will roll them over and return the favor with all the pent-up passion of a lifetime spent always reaching, trying desperately to hold onto something that was never in her grasp to begin with.

It still surprises her sometimes that _Janet_ chose to reach back.

She twists in her lover's embrace, finally turning her gaze away from their sleeping daughter to enact her fantasies.

 _We cannot continue like this,_ Talia thinks later as Janet's lovely white fingers skim lightly over her golden olive skin, delicately tracing her curves. “You wish to begin traveling again,” she says without turning. Facing Janet will tell her little the other woman does not choose to reveal. Besides, she already knows it’s true. They have already tarried far longer with their newborn than they had planned when they began this venture.

“…Ah.” The hand stills momentarily, then continues moving. “Well, to be quite honest, darling, staying in one place _is_ a dreadful bore. So vexatious, too, missing out on so many business contacts and contracts simply through lack of appropriate _presence_ at the right time and place. And children, you know, they just aren't terribly _interesting_ at this age, are they? So much better when they are older and can hold their own conversationally. Much more efficient to simply leave them in good hands and then just pop back in every so often to be sure they're developing _suitably,_ I always thought _._ ”

Talia rolls over, dark tresses spilling over the satin-covered pillow as she gazes up at Janet, whose icy blue eyes are watching her musingly. “Are you having regrets, Beloved?” Better to know now and cauterize the wound immediately than allow it to remain open, bleeding out for years.

She has learned _that_ lesson all too well in the past.

Janet lifts a fine brow, expression lightening. “Oh no, darling; not at all! I have never regretted _any_ of my children; each is an excellent asset who may well prove quite useful in the future. They are _all_ talented prodigies with the intellectual capacity, physical appearance, and social skills necessary to accomplish nearly anything I put their minds to.”

_Our daughter is three months old, and already you have such confidence in her future abilities. Not that I disagree, by any means._

She catches Talia’s small, amused huff and gifts her with a tiny laugh. “Oh, don't be like that, darling; I'm _positive_ Amira will not grow up to be anything less than a brilliant, powerful woman. I mean, simply look at her brothers! All three are proving to be quite satisfactory. And considering _we_ are her mothers, well… It is quite impossible that she will be anything less than extraordinary.”

This is all very good, of course; most reassuring, but…

“I do not wish for my daughter to be raised by strangers.” Talia clenches her fists, jaw tightening. She knew when they embarked on this undertaking that it would come to this eventually.

Her broken childhood left her fully capable of love but unable to express it in a healthy way. She knows that she would train her baby daughter from her infancy with the very best intentions, teach her defense and offense and cultivate every manner of possible advantage which might someday assist her…

And in so doing, she would steal her baby girl’s childhood, just as she robbed Damian of his. The same as was done to _her._ She does not wish to do irreparable harm to this tiny, defenseless creature, does not _want_ to perpetuate the cycle of abuse, but cannot see any other outcome should the child remain in her care.

_I do not wish to continue hurting those I love…_

Janet is in her own way even _less_ fit to be a parent. Her mind does not work quite like most, and love as it is ordinarily defined does not appear to be something she experiences. Passion, intellectual challenge, physical pleasure, and self-interest are her drivers, and what substitutes for love within her has proven to be a tangled form of possessiveness, wrapped tightly around those whom she considers _hers._ It is quite powerful in its own way, but is simply not suitable for an infant or a growing child in need of parental bonding and affection.

Talia has no fault to find with her lover’s unusual form of attachment for herself; it is most gratifying to finally be with a lover who is not driven to and fro by the vagaries of fleeting, unreliable love and inconvenient morality. Janet makes her wishes and needs very clear and is most attentive. All in all, being with the other woman has made for a very pleasant change from the one-sided relationship which previously dominated the majority of her adult life.

She has found _love_ to be fickle and transient, burning brightly and then fading to embers and leaving her cold and bereft.

After all, _Bruce_ once loved her, whispered his affection and honeyed promises in her ear and then _left her_ behind to trail him from afar, ever hoping for a resurgence of his passion and the fulfillment of sweet vows long proven to be empty and meaningless.

Talia will never allow her hope and happiness to rest upon _love_ again.

_No._

The ties she and Janet have woven between them are far stronger; they are true partners in everything, involvement and mutual assistance stitched into every facet of their work and lives. _Janet_ has already seen the worst of Talia and proven that _she_ will never turn away from her in disgust and disapproval.

In fact, she is far more likely to offer to _help,_ dispensing useful suggestions and resources to assist.

And Jack is quite innocuous, providing interesting conversation during the rare moments he is present between conducting various business and archaeological excursions to gather investors, clientele and renown for Drake Industries. He manages well enough on his own, but lacks his wife’s deft touch and incisive wit. The current status quo must give way soon lest the business suffer without Janet Drake’s hand on the wheel.

Talia is still not quite certain he is aware of her relationship with his wife; despite the fact he has actually burst into the room while they were _in flagrante delicto_ , he was quite distracted at the time, speaking excitedly about some dig or other, and did not appear to notice their occupation. Janet simply responded to his news with avid interest and did not bother with covering herself or rising from the bed, clearly perfectly pleased and comfortable with the entire situation.

But while their arrangement is eminently suitable for themselves, there is no true place for a child in it. She had believed she would be able to do this somehow, to raise their child themselves, but…

Leading the League of Assassins since her father’s _unfortunate_ death has been a smoother transition than Talia had anticipated, primarily due to Janet’s influence and the assistance of her fine analytical mind and keen business sense. Conversely, Janet herself has benefited from the tremendous reach of the League, which has increased her own contacts and resources, reputable and less so, a thousand-fold.

They are intertwined now, both financially and in almost every other aspect of their lives, leading the League and Drake Industries together. Unsurprisingly, their organizations are _thriving_ and require constant attention and management as a consequence of their success and growth.

Had she realized a year ago just how great the demands on their time would become… Well, that possibility does not bear thinking of.

She does not wish to think of a world in which their daughter does not exist.

Remembering the depths of innocence and trust in Amira’s lovely dark eyes, she knows she cannot risk her. Will not take the chance that her own broken pieces and her Beloved’s sharp edges could cut their little girl, hurt her in ways they may never even understand, let alone ever begin to heal.

She _won't_ have their daughter raised by strangers.

…Then again, that isn't actually their only option, is it?

Finally decided, she relaxes, feeling a slow smile stretching her lips. Janet tilts her lovely head, regarding her with interest before blinking several times at whatever she gleaned from her perusal of Talia’s expression. “Oh!” She raises a brow, smirking. “Yes, I suppose that _would_ answer the purpose admirably, wouldn't it? And of course, it will be so _convenient_ to be able to visit them all at once. Excellent idea, darling.”

Talia nods, feeling herself begin to relax further as she leans back to sink into the soft bedding. “Most convenient,” she agrees, already imagining visiting them. She’ll bring little gifts, useful tools and lessons here and there to keep her daughter safe, but not so much as to overwhelm or rob her of her childhood. Provide enough exposure for her to benefit from Janet’s fine mind and unique thought processes, but not enough to allow the woman to truly damage their child.

They will leave her in the care of some of the vanishingly few people in the world she trusts with such a task. And of course, they will provide watchful protection from afar. Their children are all so distressingly devoted to her previous Beloved’s creed of non-lethal methods of dealing with aggression. No matter; she and her true Beloved will have no compunction about dealing with any real threats to their family _appropriately._

Yes, this is certainly the right choice.

Janet’s hand is moving again as her finely shaped lips stretch into the knife-sharp smile that makes Talia’s blood run hot and a slow burning heat clench low in her belly. “Well, that was _quite_ a momentous decision, darling… shall we _celebrate?”_ As she speaks, she's leaning in for a kiss while her slim fingers dip _lower._

Desire rekindled by her lover’s clever fingers and lips, Talia rises to meet her, heart lightened by their decision.

*

Tim strips off Red Robin and takes a quick shower before logging his report for the night and then making his way upstairs in just sweats and one of Jason’s oversized t-shirts. Jay should be back any minute; he’d wanted to do one last sweep of the Docks to plant cameras and check for any signs of a scheduled drop that their intel indicates will be happening sometime in the next few days.

It’s been a slow week since their bizarre alternate universe guests departed, which has been great for catching up on schoolwork. They have also taken the opportunity to pick up the slack on other cases which landed on the back burner during the whole mysterious aphrodisiac debacle that turned out to have been due to an alternate universe bikini-clad Dick accidentally infecting all of Gotham with the awesome but terrifying power of his love.

 _God, that whole thing was so_ _weird, even for_ us.

Tim scratches his belly as he makes his way into the kitchen, wondering if he has time for a quick pot of coffee before his boyfriend gets home and judges him for his late-night caffeine consumption.

 _Maybe I can distract him with blowjobs? He_ loves _it when I take a sip of coffee first so my mouth’s extra hot when I put it on him. Hmm…_

A faint sound to his right has him whipping one of the numerous emergency bo-staffs stashed all over his safehouses out from under the kitchen counter, triggering the emergency alert that will warn Jay of intruders before squaring off against…

_Mother and Talia al Ghul?!_

Janet Drake lifts a single fine eyebrow as she regards him from her regal position enthroned upon a bar stool pulled up to the breakfast bar in a disorienting repetition of the last time she paid him an unexpected visit at home. She sniffs derisively and then takes a dainty sip of what looks to be some of Jason’s fancy imported tea from one of the prettily patterned fine china teacups Alfred gifted them when they finally moved in together.

She doesn’t deign to acknowledge his defensive stance as he slowly relaxes, sheepishly lowering the bo-staff although he doesn’t relax enough to put it down quite yet.

 _Well, at least the refreshments are more up to par this time,_ he thinks crazily, not bothering to wonder why he still feels such an intrinsic, visceral need to measure up to this woman’s impossible standards. He’s pretty much resigned at this point in his life to the complex mixture of love, apprehension and regret that constitutes his relationship with his mother.

 _Talia,_ on the other hand…

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, Mother?” He addresses Janet, but his eyes are on the other woman, seated calmly at his mother’s side with only her white knuckled grip clutching the teacup in her hand betraying any tension.

 _Mother’s machinations generally involve emotional manipulation and cutthroat business deals; she only escalated to outright murder once she teamed up with Talia. Although we never actually found a body, so I suppose technically it’s still only_ alleged _murder…_

Either way, Talia al Ghul showing up in his home probably means bad news. The woman should have her hands full dealing with the League of Assassins, anyway; what does she want with _him?_

The two women exchange loaded glances, carrying on a brief conversation through nothing more than quirked lips and raised eyebrows. Janet shrugs and smirks, and Talia flushes faintly. It’s… strangely intimate, kind of like how he and Jay can communicate together without words. Almost as though…

 _No._ No, _that’s not… wait, what?_

Janet’s hand reaches out to cover Talia’s on the teacup, rubbing soothingly over those whitened knuckles until the woman relaxes her tight grip. She lets go of the other woman’s hand with a final squeeze and a scorching look redolent with _filthy_ promise that Tim instantly wishes he had _never_ seen on his _mother’s_ face.

Particularly not directed at _Talia al Ghul,_ what the _hell?_

_Oh my god…_

Janet clears her throat, turning to meet his gaze with only the faintest suggestion of a flush on her alabaster skin to mark the odd interaction he desperately wishes he could forget. “Timothy, Talia and I have an… _engagement_ … to attend to soon; I’m afraid we shall be forced to cut this tarriance short, so permit me to skip directly to the purpose of our visit.”

_As though I could stop you even if I tried…_

She opens her mouth to speak again, but is interrupted by a faint noise which seems to be coming from… _beneath the counter?_ That’s kind of weird… His grip tightens on the bo-staff.

The noise repeats, louder and more insistent.

“Mother,” Tim says, working hard to maintain an acceptably calm and civilized demeanor despite all the _what the fuck_ running through his head right now. “…Why is there what sounds exactly like a _baby_ in our apartment?”

Talia reaches down and he automatically lifts the bo-staff defensively before realizing she’s just picking up a tiny, swaddled bundle. The infant is twisting in her hold, swinging tiny little fists as the small face grimaces and turns alarmingly red while the toothless mouth opens cavernously wide and the miniature body inhales ominously.

 _“Waaaaaaaah!”_ The baby’s miserable wail pierces Tim’s ears and causes his entire body to tense in dismay.

 _Oh god there’s a crying baby;_ why _do they have a crying baby? Oh hell, is that another_ Damian?! _Why must Talia keep cloning people; hasn’t she learned her lesson by now? Whatever, we need to stop it from making those noises;_ how _do I stop it making those noises—_

Talia calmly produces a small bottle of whitish fluid and pops the rubber nipple into the baby’s screaming mouth, instantly calming the heartrending sobs as the infant begins to suck and the woman gently rocks the entire bundle nestled in her arms. Her entire demeanor is completely different from usual as she gazes at the little baby’s urgent suckling; her fierce, yearning expression of protective love is almost frightening in its intensity.

The look of tolerant amusement on Janet’s face as she watches the pair is not unlike the expression she gets whenever Jack experiences one of his rare fatherly moments during which he remembers he has sons and attempts to take Tim or Timmy out back to play catch.

At the sight, some portion of Tim’s brain finishes connecting the dots and begins quietly screaming.

He’s not sure if it will ever stop.

“Mother,” he says carefully. “…Is there something you want to _tell_ me about this baby?”

“Ah, yes of course, darling; I suppose I _have_ neglected to introduce you, haven’t I? How remiss. Timothy, meet your younger sister, Amira. Amira, this is your oldest brother, Timothy. You will have an opportunity to meet your other older brothers later, I’m sure.”

 _Wait,_ brothers? _Oh dear god please don’t tell me my crazy theory is_ right…

Tim stands there, stunned into silence as his mind works overtime trying to process the information that his mother and _Talia al Ghul_ are apparently in a romantic relationship and appear to have created a child together. Janet, of course, takes advantage of his inability to speak and continues rattling on brightly without any consideration for his broken, traumatized mind.

“Timothy and his partner will be taking care of you from now on.” She addresses the now-sleeping baby in Talia’s arms as though perfectly convinced it will somehow both absorb and understand what she is saying.

_Watching this, I’m suddenly understanding a lot more about my childhood._

“The _fuck_ is goin’ on here? Jesus fuckin’ _Christ,_ don’t tell me we got a kid now, Prettyboy. I just stopped on the way home to pick up the damn _groceries._ I was _not_ gone long enough for you to somehow conceive and gestate our child.”

Tim spins, wide-eyed, and takes in his boyfriend’s appearance. Despite his playful words, Jay obviously took the emergency alert seriously; he’s still in Jayhawk, for one thing, gauntlets closed over who knows what assortment of defensive weaponry. If he _did_ get groceries, they’re probably spilled in the streets somewhere or, more likely, in the possession of some street kid or other needy individual who was in Jay’s vicinity when he received the alert. He’s breathing just slightly fast, probably having pushed his body to the limit to get here and back Tim up.

He’s gorgeous.

_God, I love you._

Talia’s head whips back and she stares the new arrival down fiercely. “Amira is _my_ child; mine and my Beloved’s.” Her smoldering look at Janet makes it _very_ clear whom she means by that little nickname now. “We give her to you to raise because we wish the best for her, and _we_ will never be what is best for any child. But she is _ours,_ will _always_ be ours.” She clasps the tiny bundle to her chest and buries her face in the soft warmth.

Janet picks up the thread of conversation smoothly with a tinkling little society laugh, just as though her lover isn’t practically breaking down next to her right there at the breakfast bar. “We have every faith in your abilities, darlings; of course, twenty and nineteen _is_ rather young for parenting, but you do have rather excellent resources available, don’t you? Mr. Pennyworth is a godsend, after all, and if I tried once to cajole him away from Wayne’s employ with every blandishment and incentive at my fingertips, I tried it a hundred times.” She tilts her head, a tiny smirk twitching her finely shaped lips. “We will be checking in periodically on her progress, of course. And the delivery should be arriving at any moment, if it is not already here.”

There’s just too much _what the fuck_ and _oh hell no_ there to even deal with, so Tim skips over most of it for now. “Delivery?” He asks mistrustfully.

 _There better not be even_ more _surprise kids coming our way…_ He experiences a horrible vision of himself and Jason being forced to raise an _army_ of tiny Janet and Talia clones and nearly has to sit down, he feels so faint.

There’s a muffled thump from down the hall in the direction of the guest bedroom and Jay’s moving to investigate even as Janet turns to Talia with a small moue of distaste. “Darling, the assassins are slipping. How dreadfully embarrassing. Shall we enact some remedial training?”

_What the hell even…?_

Talia finally looks up at the other woman’s words. Her shoulders heave once, hard, before she visibly collects herself and raises her head proudly. “Remedial training sounds _most_ satisfactory. I believe after this evening I will be… very much in need of a productive outlet for my emotions. Perhaps I will take a hand _personally_ in their correction.”

 _Ah, healthy anger management… beating the crap out of peons. Then again, it isn’t that different from a Bat except we usually channel_ our _s into punching justice into thugs. Which is marginally better. Probably._

“So passionate,” Janet murmurs approvingly, leaning way the hell too close to Talia as the muffled sounds of Jason beating up assassins reaches their ears from the guest bedroom. Tim listens carefully for a moment, then decides his boyfriend totally has this in hand and will call for assistance if needed.

_Um…_

“So what about Dad?” _Whoops, my mouth said that before my brain had a chance to scream what a horrible idea it is to bring_ that _up…_

“What about him, darling?” Janet’s expression of mildly confused interest as she turns to face him is only belied by the smirk hiding just beneath the surface. At his embarrassed silence, she huffs a tiny laugh and inspects her perfect red nails.

“Jack is a darling, of course, and quite brilliant within his scope; however, he has never had very much _interest_ in the physical side of things, if you know what I mean. He was willing to do his duty for an heir, obviously, but his heart was never in it. My god, when I remember the chore it was merely to conceive _you…!_ It is truly astonishing I ever ended up with more children after _that_ ordeal. Obtaining a second offspring from an alternate universe was a most unexpected boon and acquiring a third by means of advanced medical techniques involving an artificial womb was considerably simpler and more pleasant than coaxing Jack into performing and then enduring the indignities normally inherent in mammalian reproduction.”

Talia’s looking at Janet with interest as Tim blushes and tries very hard not to think about his parents having sex. “Your Jack… he is satisfied with our arrangement as well?”

 _I’m not hearing this, oh my god… Also, shouldn’t they have worked this kind of thing out by now? I mean, they’ve obviously been together a_ while, _considering they’ve had time to have a kid… Ugh, whatever, stop_ thinking _about this!_

“Oh, perfectly, darling! He’s been quite happy with our life together and has always been quite supportive of my little diversions. Actually, I believe he much prefers our current situation over the constantly changing stream of lovers I took over the years; he very much dislikes meeting strangers at the breakfast table, you know. And he is most pleased with your knowledge of the Neolithic Revolution in the Fertile Crescent.”

“Father always did have a fondness for archaeological finds which reminded him of past cultures that had less of an environmental impact upon the earth,” Talia says faintly, looking slightly stunned but gratified. “Well. I suppose that is… acceptable.” She inhales slowly, and then turns as Jay jogs back out of the guest bedroom looking pleased with himself.

“Your ninja are in the alley out back,” he informs her helpfully. “The conscious ones are dragging the others away.”

She nods gravely. “I would expect no less of a punishment for their unforgivable lapse in allowing themselves to be overheard. Did they at least finish arranging the nursery first?”

Jay nods, making a face. “Yeah, there’s a bunch of baby shit in there now. Are you guys seriously planning to leave your _baby_ with us? I mean, what the _fuck?”_

 _Thanks, Jay. Someone had to say it, and I’m too overwhelmed by all the_ what now _to even_ think _properly at the moment, let alone cogently form words._

Janet stands, setting her teacup down on the counter and floating gracefully toward the door while Talia hesitates, then holds her baby closer as she answers Jason’s question. “We are not… _right,_ my Beloved and I. Even _we_ can see that. I would not have this child hurt, not as I was, nor my boy. I wish for her to _thrive,_ and for this reason I entrust her to _your_ care.”

Jason stares at her, mouth hanging open, uncharacteristically silenced by her blunt honesty. Tim thinks about Damian, the horrific training regimen he endured and the precious traces of childish innocence that survived.

He thinks about Timmy, growing up alone in an empty house and slowly crushing himself under the assumption that if he could just do better, _be_ better, then maybe someday he would be loved.

_Never again, not if I can help it…_

He’s reaching out for the baby before he even realizes he’s moving, eyes unexpectedly stinging. “We’ll do it,” he manages, voice annoyingly hoarse.

Talia gazes at him, beautiful dark eyes shining with tears the proud woman will not allow to fall.

“Thank you,” she says, pressing the soft warm bundle into his arms and then hesitating a long, painful moment before physically forcing herself to let go. She swallows, sniffing loudly and then composing herself. “We will be in touch, of course, and visit periodically. She shall not grow up entirely without her mothers’ care.”

She lifts her queenly head and turns, taking Janet’s arm and not looking back as the pair glide out of the apartment, off to god-knows-where to do god-knows-what.

…Leaving Tim standing there in his kitchen, barefoot and exhausted, a tiny, sleeping infant cradled awkwardly in his arms. “Jay,” he says, not looking up from the relaxed, peaceful little face, “what the _fuck_ did I just do?”

His boyfriend pulls off his mask and tosses it on the counter, stepping up behind him to rest those big hands on his slim hips and peer over his shoulder at the tiny human for whom they are apparently now responsible. “Well _fuck,_ Prettyboy. I think we just became daddies.”

“…Fuck.”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

_Well, at least the baby’s asleep right now so we have a few minutes to think up a game plan to deal with all this…_

As if on cue, the little bundle in his arms emits a loud squelching noise accompanied by a horrendously foul odor. As Tim stares, appalled that so small a creature could be capable of producing such an overpowering and dreadful miasma, the tiny girl squirms slightly, her little face scrunching up in a heartbreakingly sad expression before another loud rumble emerges from her miniature form and she subsides, face relaxing once more into calm, happy sleep.

“Not it!” Jay manages as he staggers away, gagging dramatically at the stench and covering his mouth and nose with his hand.

Tim just lifts his face to stare at his boyfriend, wide-eyed and completely out of his depth. “…Help.”

Cursing, his big, caring boyfriend takes him by the elbow and leads him to the guest room, now transformed into a beautiful nursery complete with elegant crib, rocking chair, changing table and assorted top of the line sundries related to child-rearing. There’s a folder of paperwork on the dresser which probably contains the baby’s birth certificate and medical records. Hopefully there won’t be too much to correct there; Talia and Janet would’ve gotten the baby appropriate medical care, right?

Tim thinks about that for a moment, then makes a mental note to get the kid in to see a pediatrician he trusts as soon as possible. Just in case.

He doesn’t have time to take it all in because he’s too busy being stunned into silence by the sight of _Jason,_ still wearing most of his Jayhawk uniform, deftly laying the baby out on the changing table and removing the now-hazardously full soiled diaper before cleaning her up with the provided wipes and slipping her into a fresh one.

“Had a blowout,” he reports.

 _What does that even…?_ Tim barely has time to wonder before the squirming, fussing baby is thrust into his arms, chest to chest.

“Hold her while I clean up her back and find her some fresh clothes.” Jason’s already running a baby wipe over the tiny little back as he speaks.

 _Oh my god there’s poop on her back; how is there poop on her_ back?! He looks at the mess on the changing table and sees stains inside the tiny outfit Jason just stripped off; it looks as though the mess overfilled the diaper and then flowed out the back.

… _I guess that’s what blowout means? Gross._

Meanwhile, the baby has awakened entirely and is expressing her unhappiness with the current state of _everything_ by arching her back and making a fair attempt at twisting right out of his awkward grip while wailing loudly.

“Jesus, Prettyboy, bounce her or somethin’!” His boyfriend rapidly cleans up the mess, shaking his head at Tim’s extremely cautious attempts at _bouncing_ the baby before taking her back and tucking her tiny body into the crook of one of his huge arms. “Like this,” he demonstrates, using his knees to lightly bounce the little girl while simultaneously swaying slowly back and forth. She calms down almost immediately, little face relaxing back into sleep with tears still frozen on her tiny cheeks.

The sight of those little tears makes Tim feel horribly guilty somehow and he wonders helplessly how in the world they’re going to _do_ this.

“Now what? Do we just put her to bed naked except for a diaper?” It seems like that would get cold…

“Naw, just watch. I got, like, next level baby skills from looking after all the kids in my apartment building growing up while the moms were workin’.” Jason lays out a little outfit on the crib mattress and then sets the sleeping baby down on top of it, snapping it up skillfully around her tiny limbs without awakening her.

“…Wow.”

“Heh. Still got it, I guess.”

“I need coffee.” _Tonight of all nights, I_ really _need coffee. Please Jay, just let me have this…_

“Yeah, okay, we’re probably gonna be up all night anyway so it ain’t like you’re ruining your sleep. Grab it, and then let’s sit on the couch and figure this shit out.”

“Sounds good.” Tim snags the folder and heads into the kitchen, starting a pot of his strongest brew. He has a feeling he’s going to need it.

 _We’re not ready for this,_ he thinks blankly as he stares at the birth certificate for Amira Drake al Ghul, aged four months and three days, while he and Jason try to work out how they can possibly juggle their class schedules, patrol, and providing constant childcare for a newborn.

It… does not look good.

Amira waking up sobbing like her heart is breaking after about two hours does _not_ help, particularly when hidden speakers crackle and Talia al Ghul’s grumpy voice, hoarse with sleep, chides them for not caring sufficiently well for her daughter. “She needs her bottle prepared every three hours; you must have it ready _before_ she wakes up hungry or she may become too worked up to eat.”

Jason straps the squalling infant to his chest in some kind of sling before going to mix the bottle using some of the mysterious supplies the women left behind while Tim laboriously makes his way through their home, finding and disabling all of the new surveillance equipment they apparently also installed during their uninvited visit.

There’s a lot.

He hesitates over the last of it, a simple camera with audio pickup in the baby’s room, and then leaves it. They’re still her _mothers;_ they deserve to be able to check in and see she’s alright.

Jason feeds and soothes the now-frantic infant, whose sobs slowly subside to little snuffles and heartbreaking whimpers as she clutches at the bottle in her hands, staring at it with bright, wet eyes like she’s afraid it will be torn away from her at any moment.

_God, we’re not ready for this._

Tim pulls his phone out of his pocket, then hesitates. “Jay… I think maybe we should call B.”

The big man laughs. “Really, you think _he’s_ gonna have the first clue what the hell to do with a goddamn _baby?”_ The bottle slips from the infant’s mouth as her eyelids flutter, eyes rolling back slightly with exhaustion. Hunger satiated, she slowly relaxes again in Jason’s arms as he lifts her against his big shoulder and gently pats her back until she produces a surprisingly loud belch.

As he lays her down again in the crib, Tim notices a little wet patch on his boyfriend’s shoulder. _Gross._

Following his gaze, Jason laugh again. “It’s just fuckin’ spit-up; it ain’t that bad. You’re gonna hafta get used to all this eventually, Prettyboy.”

_That’s what I’m afraid of, Jay…_

“I don’t think this is something we should try to do alone.” He looks at the phone again.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Still, put it on speaker; I wanna hear his reaction to this shit.”

Tim rolls his eyes but complies, dialing and setting the phone on speaker as they make their way back out to the living room so as not to wake the baby. “Report,” Batman’s voice answers immediately, clearly expecting some kind of emergency for them to be contacting him so late. Or rather, _early_ at this point…

 _Well, he isn’t wrong,_ Tim muses. “Hey B,” he begins, not quite sure how to go about telling the man he’s now kind of a grandfather.

Jason helpfully assists. “Yo Gramps, hope you got a fuckin’ cigar handy ‘cause me and Prettyboy here have a brand new unplanned little bundle of joy.”

“What.” Bruce’s flat, expressionless voice eventually responds after an excruciatingly long pause.

“…We have a baby now?” Tim tries.

“How did this happen?” Bruce sounds like he’s getting into damage control mode now and Tim just _knows_ the older man has the wrong idea about all this. He’s probably envisioning magic spells, experimental chemical formulae, and various types of alien technology they might have encountered during their night jobs that might theoretically lead to something like a surprise male pregnancy with a ridiculously short gestational period.

 _Oh god, this is so weird. I’ve gotta get it together and tell him what_ really _happened before he comes over here ready to run every analysis known to Batman on us and the baby-_

“Well, B, when a man loves a man very, _very_ much…” Jay’s grinning like a bastard, eyes alight with fiendish delight as Tim slaps a hand over his boyfriend’s filthy mouth before he can start describing their sex life in embarrassingly vivid detail.

 _“No!”_ he says in unplanned stereo with Bruce.

“…This is a joke, isn’t it? I should have guessed as much immediately, considering your stunt with the artificial wombs on April Fool’s.” Bruce sounds resigned and reluctantly amused.

Tim almost hates to disillusion him. “Ah, I can see how you would think that, but no, actually, my mother and Talia al Ghul just dropped in on us and—”

Bruce immediately interrupts, voice protective. “Are you injured? What was the League’s objective?”

“Well…” This is too strange; Tim can’t quite bring himself to tell B that the man’s previous baby mama has moved on, and with his _mom._

“The Murder Ladies are apparently bumpin’ uglies, made a baby of their own in one of Talia’s creepy as fuck external wombs, and then dumped the kid on us because they’re just self-aware enough to realize raisin’ a kid on their own is one _hell_ of a bad idea.”

Jason’s always so good at cutting right to the heart of a situation, laying it out bluntly and to _hell_ with everyone’s delicate sensibilities. It’s a skill that comes in handy pretty often when dealing with bats.

Bruce is silent for a full minute before speaking again. “We’ll be there soon.”

“Wait—” The dial tone is his only answer.

*

Predictably, Alfred, Cass, and Dick are amazing with Amira. Alfred teaches Tim and Jason numerous helpful techniques and provides occasional childcare for the adoring little girl while Dick makes silly faces, bounces the baby with seemingly endless energy, and provides welcome relief during his frequent visits. Cass just seems to read the baby’s mind and anticipate her every need whenever she’s in town and can swing by.

 _Alfred and Cass are a fuckin’ gift and Dickie’s not too bad either,_ Jason thinks as he stifles a yawn and unceremoniously shoves their now six month-old baby into Bruce’s arms the instant the man enters their apartment, knowing he only has about ten minutes to eat and get ready if he doesn’t want to be late to class.

 _Too bad B kinda sucks at dealin’ with babies. He kinda holds her like she’s a bomb that might go off at any moment. Which, fair. I mean, she_ does _blow out her diapers once in a while still…_

Bruce, equally predictably, is horrible with the baby and can’t hold her for longer than a minute without her tiny face scrunching up unhappily. Clark’s awkward with her but still way the hell better than Bruce. Too bad he’s so fuckin’ busy most of the time saving kittens from trees and all that jazz to come babysit for them.

Jason pauses on the brink of departure to try one more time at helping his dad become a bit more comfortable with his little girl.

“You’re holding her too fuckin’ _stiff;_ it probably feels like cuddling a damn brick wall. You gotta _relax,_ Old Man!” Jason watches as the older man attempts to relax, settling back further into the couch and tentatively placing the baby on his chest so she can feel his breathing.

He’s rewarded by slow blinks and a big yawn, and he turns to look up at Jason in something like wonder.

 _D’aww…!_ “Yeah, you’re getting the hang of it, B,” he says with a lopsided grin as a bleary-eyed Tim enters the apartment, sloughs his backpack off onto the floor and flicks a tired smile at them both before shuffling out of the room to steal a nap before his afternoon class.

They’ve both learned to grab their sleep whenever and wherever they can because Amira still wakes up needing them every few hours. Having everyone in the family come by on a rotating schedule throughout the week sure as hell helps, as do the regular meals Alfred keeps sending over despite Jason’s assurances that the elderly man doesn’t have to go so far, but even with all that it’s still fuckin’ _exhausting_ to care for a young infant.

Just as he’s on his way out, his phone chimes with a message.

“Class is fuckin’ _cancelled,”_ he says disbelievingly, torn between mild anger at having gotten all ready to go out for nothing and profound relief that now he can fuckin’ _sleep._

Unless Bruce has more important things to do right now. “Yo, B, you mind stickin’ around and watching her for a while anyway even though I don’t need to go to class? It’s time for her nap so she’ll probably be okay if you just wanna put her down in her crib…”

“We’re fine like this,” Bruce says softly, looking down at the sleeping baby on his chest and gently stroking her back. His gaze is warm as he lifts it to meet Jason’s eyes. “Go rest, son.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

The hour-long nap he manages wrapped around Prettyboy is fuckin’ _heaven,_ and forcing himself out of bed when the sound of Amira’s pitiful wails reaches them is so damned difficult, he almost can’t bring himself to do it.

Just as he finally manages to disentangle himself from a still dead-to-the-world Tim, the cries fall silent.

_Oh fuck, maybe something’s really wrong—_

He barely has time to begin panicking as he rushes back out into the living room, where he slows to a halt and his heart calms considerably at the sight of Damian, carefully peeling off the now happily cooing baby’s sweater while scolding a bewildered but tolerant-looking Bruce.

“You must learn to _interpre_ t her cries, Father; the ‘ _heh heh’_ sound is indicative of physical discomfort while the _‘eh eh’_ sound means she is attempting to emit gas and requires patting on her back to enable her to belch. If her mouth is rounded as though to yawn and the cry emerges with an _‘ow ow’_ sound, she is tired, and the _‘neh neh’_ sound produced by her tongue touching the roof of her mouth during the cry indicates she is hungry. She was overheated, as you would have _known_ had you been able to comprehend her quite informative cries of ‘ _heh heh.’”_

The child directs a disappointed stare at his father who merely blinks back at the boy, clearly unable to quite deal with this onslaught of infant-related information.

_What the fuck? Guess the kid’s finally gotten past not being sure if he should be protective or fuckin’ jealous as hell of the new baby…_

The ten year-old gives the now sleeping baby sprawled on his bemused but faintly smiling father a proprietary pat on the back and then turns to face Jason. “Todd, I have conducted a study of available infant care resources and assembled a list of selected reading for everyone who participates as one of Amira’s caretakers. Timothy and I have prepared a test for any potential caretakers, with multiple choice, short response and essay portions—”

 _Fuckin’_ Christ, _these kids are dedicated. And kinda crazy. Also, I’d probably fail the hell outta that test. Whatever, deal with that shit if it comes up again later. That’s future_ _Jason’s problem._

“Sounds great, brat, but why the big effort? I mean, we _appreciate_ it and all, but our kid ain’t exactly your responsibility.”

Damian’s brows lower and he lifts his little chin imperiously. “Timothy and I have spoken at length on the subject and ultimately come to the determination that our sister-niece _is,_ in fact, our responsibility. We shall raise her in our own image, beginning now!”

 _Oh lord give me strength… Jesus fuckin’_ Christ _do they_ gotta _call her their goddamn_ sister-niece? _I mean, it’s kinda accurate_ _I guess but it sounds way the hell more twisted than the situation actually warrants. Eh, at least this whole overinvolvement thing is seriously fuckin' better than the brat feeling competitive or some shit._

“Uh, awesome, kiddo. Damn, I’m too tired to deal with this right now…” He scratches his chest and wanders out of the room, finding his way to the bed more by muscle memory than anything else before collapsing back into the soft coverings and draping himself over Tim again.

*

Their nine month-old gazes up with an expression of rapt enchantment at the new _toy_ her mothers sent as Tim clutches it safely out of her reach, visibly appalled. _Why,_ he mouths helplessly as he stares at the tiny, perfect, _infant-sized dagger._

Jason snorts out a laugh and takes the blade from him, tucking it safely away to store properly later. “Prettyboy, you _know_ what they’re like. We’re just lucky they didn’t decide to send her a goddamn _ninja_ this time.”

 _That_ hadn’t been fun, although Amir had been both unobtrusive and very helpful with the chores. He’d never complained _once_ about having to carry out dirty diapers or wash badly soiled clothes. But it was the goddamn _principle_ of the thing, so it’d been a relief when they eventually managed to send him back and get Talia to tacitly agree to not send any more _humans_ as presents.

Janet’s more difficult in a lot of ways; not only does she calmly recite her freaking _terrifying_ amoral little maxims about how best to succeed in life to Amira during their weekly Skype calls, _Tim_ keeps absentmindedly doing the same damn thing because he’s fuckin’ _conditioned_ or something to pass along to his child all the scary as fuck lessons his mother taught him.

Whatever, at least their kid’s gonna know _exactly_ how to destroy her enemies when the time comes. He wonders passingly if Tim’s noticed the way certain particularly virulent criminals in Gotham have been mysteriously disappearing ever since the Murder Ladies dropped off their progeny, and then shrugs.

 _Damn, they’re terrifying. Thank fuck they’re on_ our _side._

Amira’s fussing over the loss of her new pretty, so with a longsuffering air Tim produces his cell phone and holds it out for her. “Here you go, Sweetheart.”

Her cheeks dimple and her eyes sparkle as she reaches for it, mouth opening in a grinning crow of excitement and joy because playing with his phone is her very favorite activity these days. She’s actually managed to unlock it, change the language to Russian, _and_ use it to order an incomprehensible number of crates of fertilizer of all things on Amazon before, all in the span of less than five minutes. Which is why they usually try not to let her get her grubby little hands on it, so this is a rare treat.

In that moment, Jason is _floored_ by how beautiful she is, how perfect, from her soft black hair to her tiny little toes. _“Fuck,_ Prettyboy, I still can't get over how gorgeous she is, y'know? Loved her so much, from the very first time I held her and saw her pretty little smile.”

“Jay, she looked like a potato. And the smile was probably gas.”

“You're such a moment-ruiner.” Jay kisses Tim fondly.

 _My_ _moment-ruiner. Mine._

“Anyway, are you sure we’ve found and confiscated all the _presents_ Mother and Talia left earlier? I got all the new surveillance bugs already.”

“Yeah, we got ‘em all now; that dagger was the last. We’re good to go.” Jason nods confirmation and Tim sighs, running a hand through his hair before smiling, his tired blue eyes dancing.

“Well then… Steph should be here any minute to watch Amira while we’re at dinner, and Babs and Dick are coming over later to help take care of her tonight so we can actually get some real sleep. Damn, I think we might actually be able to go on a _date_ for once!” It’s a thrilling thought; they haven’t had anything like that much privacy in _months._

Later, romantic dinner eaten and hilarious movie watched, he lies sprawled on his back in their sinfully comfortable bed with a lax, satiated Tim draped over his chest, heated skin deliciously exposed. He runs a big hand up and down his gorgeous boyfriend’s lithe back and lets out a long sigh of utter contentment.

In that moment, he doesn’t even _care_ that Babs and Dick are out there listening to music turned up abnormally loud, probably to cover the supreme awkwardness of hearing what Tim and Jason were getting up to in here. Whatever, he was just loving his boyfriend; he’s _never_ going to feel guilty about that.

_Damn, our life is pretty okay right now._

*

Tim wakes to the sound of Jay's low, incredibly tender murmurs and Amira crowing and babbling with delight. He can actually _hear_ the grin in his boyfriend's voice and he finds his lips curving into an answering smile before he even opens his eyes.

“She's having one of her smile storms, isn't she?” Tim gives in to the pressing urge to join them in being awake despite the bed’s siren song promising comfort, warmth and sleep. Lately their baby has taken to grinning for absolutely no reason they can discern, apparently just bubbling over with sheer joy in existence. Amira’s smile storms are some of the most adorable things he’s ever seen and he doesn’t want to miss any more of this one.

“Open your damn eyes, Prettyboy, and see for yourself.” Jason’s fingers stroke along the inside of Tim’s wrist encouragingly.

He cracks open his eyes and takes in the adorable sight of Jay in sleep pants playing with Amira, whose tiny face is wreathed in happy smiles as she giggles and squeals, fat little hands batting softly at Jason's huge fingers as he tickles her round little tummy.

Tim smiles involuntarily at the sight, then snorts softly. “How in the world two people like _Janet_ and _Talia_ managed to combine their DNA to make someone like _this_ , I will never understand.”

Their baby is a year old now and she’s _gentle,_ affectionate and playful and nothing like _either_ of her mothers. Her heritage is physically obvious from her golden-brown skin and finely drawn little black brows to her big dark blue-green eyes and full lower lip. In appearance, she’s a perfect blend of the women who planned and grew her in an artificial womb, then left their newborn at Tim and Jason's apartment with little more than some supplies, a name meaning ‘exalted’ in Arabic, and a few hurried, emotional excuses.

Kind of a dick move on their part, although Tim is willing to acknowledge their reasons for not wanting to raise her themselves as entirely valid. It’s probably a _really_ good thing both women realized they aren't fit to be parents. He imagines a little girl raised with both Talia _and_ Janet’s training and shudders at the legitimately terrifying mental image that results.

Jason's voice draws him out of his head.

“I dunno; maybe she's more like how they were as babies. Well, Talia at least; I can’t really picture your mom as a baby. Kinda think she hatched or like, crawled outta a hellgate or somethin’.” He expertly dodges Tim’s halfhearted swat. It’s hard to draw together the gumption to defend his mother’s honor when Tim kind of wonders the same thing himself sometimes. “We got no clue what Talia was like before Ra's got his fuckin' claws in her, or how she woulda been if she wasn't stuck with him for a dad and lost her mom so young."

Tim considers, wincing slightly as he imagines _Amira_ being subjected to the kind of treatment that could turn her into someone like Talia. His fists clench.

_Not sorry Ra’s is gone; that asshole deserved whatever he got._

Tim shakes Amira's rattle and she crawls over, reaching for it and cooing with delight. “You've got a good point there. But seriously, what about Janet? As far as I know, she wasn't abused or mistreated in any way as a child. She's just… naturally terrifying.”

Jay shrugs, rolling onto his back to float Amira in the air over him, grinning as she wiggles and laughs uproariously. “Well, obviously her _condition_ isn't hereditary. I mean, look at _you._ You're the furthest fuckin' thing from a sociopath.” He tilts his head to smile at Tim and Tim can't resist leaning over to kiss that happy smile.

It was definitely a shock when Janet and Talia showed up with Amira and left her in their care; figuring out how to care for the unexpected newborn was a steep learning curve.

 _Especially the first time I tried to change one of Amira’s diapers and didn’t realize I should get another in place right away._ That _was a horrific mess… Thank goodness Jason was there and helped once he was finished laughing his ass off at me._

Despite Jay’s not inconsiderable parenting skills, there were more than a few moments prepping a bottle in the darkest hours of the night with shaking hands, riding _hard_ on sleep deprivation while a legitimately sleepwalking Jay paced and bounced an inconsolable baby, during which Tim really wasn’t sure they were going to be able to make everything work and _do_ this.

Watching Jay settle their baby on his chest now as he makes ridiculous faces and noises to get her to laugh, Tim realizes with an inward grin that looking back, he wouldn't have it any other way.

…Well, maybe he'd change the bit about his mom and Talia al Ghul being in a goddamn _romantic relationship,_ because _ew,_ and also, _dear god why._ Seriously, _why_ did they decide to make a child together whom they weren’t even planning to raise themselves?

But he wouldn't have it any other way because then he and Jay wouldn't have this precious child, and Damian and Timmy wouldn’t have their beloved sister-niece to love and protect, and Cass and Dick wouldn't have a sweet little niece to dote on. They'd never have gotten to see the soft look in Bruce's eye as he awkwardly held his tiny granddaughter in his big arms, happiness, love, and protectiveness written in every line of his posture while Clark smiles down on them both with so much joy, ready and willing to _literally_ move heaven and earth for her sake if they just asked.

And Alfred wouldn’t have gotten to gently care for his tiny great-granddaughter, beaming with delight the entire time as he carefully instructed Tim and Jason on how to properly care for a newborn after that first semi-frantic midnight call way back when Janet and Talia left her with them.

Although Babs doesn't seem to appreciate the way Dick's eyes keep lighting up with a very special fervor every time he holds Amira. Tim knows for a _fact_ she's caught Dick eying the artificial wombs longingly more than once lately, too.

Whatever, Babs wants kids eventually; she'll be ready in time and then they will be _amazing_ parents. The proof is right there in how good they are with Amira.

…But _damn,_ he could _really_ live without Steph’s horrible ship name for Talia and Janet’s romantic relationship.

 _Why does she pronounce it so much like_ genitalia _, anyway? I never needed or wanted to hear the word_ Janetalia _and it is cruel and evil of Steph to constantly use that word to refer to them and their scary, scary love. Why, Steph, why?_

Amira reaches for Tim with a questioning look in her eyes and he rolls over in response, plastering himself along Jay’s side so she has both of them in arm's reach. Perfectly content once she’s flopped over to lie across both of their chests, she nestles down and relaxes. Tim and Jay practically hold their breath as her little eyelids flutter and slowly close.

Once she stills, shallow, even breaths lifting her little body as her tiny rosebud lips purse and twitch like she's dreaming of her now-outgrown bottle, Tim risks tilting his head to look at Jay. “Hey there,” he whispers, grinning at the sappy look on his boyfriend's face but not daring to make fun when he's pretty sure his own expression is just as bad if not worse. “Guess we're sleeping in today?”

Jay nods. “Kiddo has the best ideas. You need more rest, Prettyboy. Been workin' too hard keepin' up with school and patrol and lookin' after our girl.” He leans in to give Tim a sweet, gentle kiss with an underlying banked heat that promises more later when they have time, energy, and a couple of family members around willing to babysit and give them some much-needed _alone_ time.

That’s been easier to arrange ever since they finally got around to getting soundproofing installed around their room.

_Wimps. They were just jealous…_

Tim kisses him back, enjoying it thoroughly, and then relaxes into the warmth and comfort of his little family and allows himself to drift gently off to sleep.

*

Jason’s ungently awakened by the insistent little hand shoving at his face and tugging on his hair, trying to get his attention. “Da- _da!”_

_I miss the days before she could climb out of her toddler bed and make her way into our room on her own. The crib was such a good cage to keep her contained, right up until it wasn’t._

“Da-da, _poo!”_ Amira’s cute, tiny little voice is distressingly clear as she speaks loudly right _into his ear._

Maybe if he just lies there pretending to be asleep, she’ll get tired of it and lie down again. Or maybe Tim will wake up and take care of it.

 _Ha! Yeah, right; Prettyboy sleeps like a damn log when the kid needs something. Wakes up in a heartbeat ready to fight if we’re in danger, but a dirty diaper? Nope; it’d take a damn_ bomb _to wake him up for that._

“Da-da, I _poop!”_

_Ah, great…_

“…Why’m I the one she always fu—uh, _fudging_ comes to when she poops in the morning…” It’s hard to remember not to use profanity around the baby, but now that Amira’s twenty-two months old she’s really getting into the habit of picking up and repeating every damn thing he says and he’s tired of getting the stink eye from Tim when their toddler says something wildly inappropriate she clearly picked up from him.

_I’m too damn soft on Prettyboy, but I love him so much I just fuckin’ wanna make him happy._

“Obviously you’re poop-dad.” Tim’s voice sounds way the hell too amused for this early on a Saturday.

_God, he’s such a little shit. Still love him though._

“You mean it’s ‘cause she knows there’s no chance in hel—uh, _heck_ you’re getting _your_ lazy ass—uh, _butt_ outta bed for anything less than a full-scale emergency.” He sighs and starts rolling onto his side in preparation to leave the warm, comfortable nest of blankets and brave the cold, crisp early morning air to change the poop diaper their little girl has so helpfully informed him she has.

“She _is_ very smart, isn’t she? Who’s a brilliant little baby girl who loves her Daddy? That’s right, _you_ are! Miri is! Amira’s my smart little girl, yes she is…!” Tim’s voice goes stupidly soft and sweet as he talks to their child like she’s a puppy or kitten or something else disgustingly young and adorable. Which, okay, she _is,_ but still. _Dignity._

Tim definitely lost his somewhere along the way.

“Jesus Christ, that’s nauseating. You’re fu- _fudging_ makin’ me sick, Prettyboy. I can’t believe I find that cute.” Seriously. He kinda wants to punch _himself_ in the face for going all warm and gooey inside when Prettyboy does this.

“Da-da! Da-dee!” Amira points first at Jason, then Tim, apparently telling them their names before grinning and wiggling her plump little body in sheer delight.

Tim has the grace to look mildly ashamed of himself. “I know, Jay. I know, and I try to fight it. I just can’t help it. She’s so _cute!”_

Jason shrugs acknowledgement of that obvious truth, then frowns. “Think she’ll be ready to start callin’ me Pops soon? She’s gotta grow outta this Dada, Daddy stuff eventually, right?” He _really_ wants to be called Pops; Tim can keep the Daddy moniker and Talia and Janet can sort their own shit out whenever. Although they both seem pretty okay so far with being called Mama and Mother, respectively.

“I don’t know, Jason; are you sure you want to roll those dice again? She called you _Poops_ for a _week_ last time you tried to teach her to call you Pops. And then she got confused and started calling you _Dada Poops,_ like _that_ was your name.” Tim tries and fails to muffles his snickers at the recollection of _that_ memorable little mistake. Dick _still_ teases him about it, as though someone named _Dick_ has room to talk.

 _Yeah, okay_.

“…I guess Dada’s fine for a while longer.” He knows when he’s been beaten.

“Da-da!” Their toddler grins and holds her arms out for him, ready for her diaper change, and he sighs and leans forward to pick her up, grinning in spite of himself at her beautiful smile, happy babbling, and the complete trust with which she allows him to pick her up and then clings to him.

He decides to let Tim rest and carries her out on his hip to dispose of the soiled diaper and wash his hands after he’s gotten her changed and dressed. The unexpected but welcome scent of coffee and breakfast greets him in the kitchen where he’s mildly surprised to find Timmy, Steph, and Damian hanging out and eating at the kitchen table.

“Yours is over there,” Timmy points at a couple of well-filled plates and steaming mugs of… _ah, fuck yeah._ There’s coffee in one, and what looks like _Alfred tea_ in the other.

He feels Amira tugging away and turns to see Alfred smiling benevolently at the little girl, a kindly twinkle in his eye as he gently extracts her from Jason’s grip and transfers her to his own arms. “Please allow us to entertain young Miss Amira for the day, Master Jason. Young Master Damian has plans to engage in teaching her the finer points of finger painting, while young Master Timmy and Miss Steph intend to introduce her to the art of blowing bubbles on the Manor lawn, followed by a picnic and then an afternoon nap.”

The elderly man clears his throat, suppressing a deeply fond smile as the toddler wiggles in his arms and manages to get her mouth on a button. He deftly maneuvers it out of her questing mouth and replaces it with a slice of apple, which she nibbles on appreciatively. “After lunch, Master Dick and Miss Babs wish to accompany all of us to the zoo. We have a full schedule planned and I do assure you Miss Amira will be perfectly safe and content in our care whilst you and Master Tim use the time for some much-needed relaxation and recuperation.”

He just blinks at them, blindsided by the offer of a whole day off with just Prettyboy. It’s… been a while.

_Damn._

“Geez, Alfie, we really appreciate it. All you guys are the fu—uh, _fudgin’_ best.” He gives his grandpa a quick hug, tousles the boys’ hair as he walks by and gives Steph a quick grin before snagging the loaded tray. His stomach growls loudly and the kids snicker.

_Whatever, anyone who smells Alfred-cooking and isn’t immediately hungry is a fuckin’ robot._

“Thanks for the grub, Alfie!” He calls out as he bumps open the bedroom door with his hip, kicking it closed behind him and leaving the quiet murmur of their family’s voices behind. “Hey, Prettyboy,” he whispers, setting the tray down on a bedside table and leaning in for a kiss that mostly lands on hair and forehead because that’s all that’s exposed.

“Mmmph,” the Tim-lump in the bed grumps adorably, burrowing his head even deeper under the covers so all that’s showing is a small tuft of soft black hair.

Chuckling softly, Jason picks up the mug of coffee and moves it slowly back and forth, wafting the scent toward his sleeping boyfriend. He’s rewarded almost instantly as the smaller man lifts his head, blinking big blue eyes at Jason before zeroing in on the coffee and making grabby hands. “Gimme!”

He’s laughing as he hands over the coffee and climbs back under the covers, helping Tim sit up and then arranging their plates so they can enjoy their breakfast in bed. “The others are gonna watch the kid today, so we got some unexpected alone time.”

Their eyes meet as they both think about all the things they can do with that time, _will_ do with it. Resting, reconnecting physically, _fuck,_ just catching up on general chores, homework, and patrol reports; _damn,_ did they ever even manage to file their taxes this year?

Whatever; no matter what they do, it’s gonna be a fuckin’ _awesome_ day. And at the end of it they’ll have Amira back with her sweet smiles, rippling laughter, and all the unexpected joy she’s managed to bring to their lives.

“Fuck, Prettyboy,” Jason breathes, smiling and shaking his head. “We sure have a _damn_ good life, don’t we?”

Tim finishes sucking down the coffee like it gives him life, which come to think of it actually might be a pretty accurate description. “Yeah, Jay, we sure as hell do,” he whispers, leaning in for a soft kiss that would probably turn into something more if their laps weren’t loaded with _Alfred cooking._

They part with a smile and a few more soft presses of lips before turning back to their breakfast.

 _If I have anything to say about it, we won’t be leaving this fuckin’ bed all_ day.

By the hungry, _predatory_ look on the other man’s face as he sets aside their plates and mugs once they’ve finished eating, Prettyboy’s got pretty much the same idea.

 _Oh,_ fuck _yeah!_ He lets himself fall back into the covers as his leanly muscled, brilliant, fucking _gorgeous_ boyfriend straddles his thighs and cups his face in his hands. Tim just grins down at him, eyes alight with happiness, before lowering his head for a passionate kiss that goes on and _on._

He runs his big hands over warm, firm shoulders and slim hips, heat kindling and growing between them as he holds the man he loves in his arms.

 _God_ damn _, life is good._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tim, eying mysterious bundle on counter suspiciously:** “That BETTER not be a bomb” *Begins to edge carefully away while making plans to defuse potential explosive device*  
>  **Janet Drake, popping into existence right behind him:** “Enjoy your new sister-daughter, darling! Ta!” *Wraps self sinuously around Talia al Ghul, much to Tim’s horror*  
>  **Tim, grabbing bundled baby and lifting her in front of his face in attempt to shield his eyes from emotionally scarring sight of his MOM making out with Talia al Ghul:** “Aaaaaaaaaaaa WHYYY????”  
>  **Talia al Ghul, eying Tim fiercely while fondling Janet:** “Raise her well; we’ll KNOW if you don’t” *Leaves Gotham with Janet, slaying all potentially dangerous villains on their way out of town*  
>  **Jason, wandering in with groceries:** “Wtf” *Quickly rescues baby, who a confused Tim is holding upside down* “Huh, guess we’re daddies now. I call Cool Dad!”  
>  **Alfred, breezing past to organize their kitchen and childproof their home while the rest of their family stumbles in, staring at baby:** “Ah, young masters, are you CERTAIN she should be teething on this?” *Gently removes batarang from baby’s mouth, eyes a guilty-looking Bruce remonstratively*  
>  **Bruce, defensively:** “But she WANTED it, Alfred! How could I say no to that tiny face?” *Cringes slightly under combined glare of entire family*  
>  **Damian, judgingly:** “Father you fool, a batarang is entirely the wrong consistency for my sister-niece to cut her teeth upon! Here, use the hilt of my katana instead!” *Attempts to hand over katana but is immediately blocked by pretty much everyone*  
>  **Timmy, quietly stuffing actual baby-safe teether into Amira’s mouth:** “I’m so sorry, our family’s really weird. You’ll get used to it” *Pats her comfortingly on the head*  
>  **Dick, gazing at the baby:** “Oooooh I want one!” *Turns hurt look on Babs after she smacks him upside the head* “…Later?” *Grins with delight as Babs shrugs acceptance*  
>  **Tim, smiling and cuddling baby:** “She IS kinda adorable, isn’t she?” *Makes a face as baby in his arms emits horrific noise and stench, immediately tosses her over to Jason* “Yeet!”  
>  **Jason, appalled but laughing:** “Did you just fuckin’ YEET me our baby?” *Shakes his head at cowardly boyfriend as he changes baby’s diaper* “Damn you’re lucky you’re cute”  
> *  
> So, this oneshot came about because multiple people commented on Where’s My Goddamn Dinosaur asking about the potential for a Janet Drake/Talia al Ghul relationship, and then Xas left an intriguing comment suggesting the idea of those two creating a child in one of the artificial wombs and giving her to the boys to raise. Thank you to everyone who shared their ideas and helped inspire this, and I hope you enjoyed the way this what-if turned out!
> 
> Thank you to all who have read, commented, or given kudos to this series so far! Thanks for reading! 
> 
> :D

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A better tomorrow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18120254) by [Hasegawa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hasegawa/pseuds/Hasegawa)




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